'.'■'.ri'.''. 



t r f ■ 



'^•^•■;''*v' 






■■■" ■ ';.('•. • 






rih 



M : ■ ' , .. 1 



I ' I.I 
I " ■ 



■■ii 










Class E\^^ 



Gopyriglitl^°_ 



COPnUGHT DEFOSIC 




HIAWATHA, FOUNDER OF THE IROQUOIS LEAGUE 

The Iroquois League was composed of the Mohawk, Oneida. Onondaga, Cayuga. Seneca |and Tuscarora nations 
who founded in the New York wilderne>s :i barbaric republic. 









ffor tbe Unstruction an^ Entertainment of tbe Hmcrican Mome 






U-ITf 7i_Lilira,riJ m i^AJliFl trtili ' 


• i 




Containing all that is Best and Most Inspiring 


in the History of Our Country, and in the 


Literature of Our Favorite Authors, together 


with the Lives of Our Illustrious Statesmen, 


Soldiers, Authors and Men of Achievement 


Bb 

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, Lit.D. 
WILLIAM WILFRED BIRDSALL, A.M. 
EDWARD EVERETT HALE, LL.D. 

• «i > > > • • 




rROriSI!I,Y II.llSTKATED WITH 

Half-Tone Kngravings Printed in Color and Special Drawings 
MADr; roK this vohk by th^ most noted x.mekican aktists 




THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. 

PHILADEI PHIA CHICAGO TORONTO 







V 

^ 



1« 



■2^ 



LIBRARY ** CONiiRESS 

Two Capiae Received 

MAR 29 1904 

"l Copyng"! tntry 
CLASS a. ' XXc. No. 



Entered according to Act of 
Corvgress in the year 1904 by 
W. E. SCVLL. In the office 
of the Librarian of Congress , 
at Washington. P. C. 

All Rights Reserved 



-Xibrar^ of Hmericam 



IHistor^, Xiteratuve aub BloGtapb^ 

COMPUETE IN ^ONE VOLUME 



American History 

THE MARVELOUS RECORD 
or FOUR HUNDRED YEARS 



EMBRACING THE HISTORY, GROWTH AND ACHIEVE- 
MENTS OF OUR COUNTRY FROM THE EARLIEST DAYS OF 
DISCOVERY AND SETTLEMENT TO THE PRESENT TIME 



.3QH- 



Mamilton Mri^bt flnabic, Xit.2). 

Editor of "The Outlook;" Author of "Backgrounds 
of Literature;" "My Study Fire," etc., etc. 

^sststcO by 

Jdotc^ Hutborities in Special Departments 

INCLUDING 



FRANCIS NEWTON THORPE, Ph.D. 

Professor of American History 
University of Pennsylvania 



COL. MARSHALL H. BRIGHT 

Author of "Life of Columbus" 



ALBERT SHAW, LL.D. 

Editor of the "Review of Reviews*' 

PROFESSOR CHARLES MORRIS 
Author of "Decisive Events in 
American History," etc., etc. 



AND OTHERS 



PROFUSELY EMBELLISHED AND ILLUSTRATFD 

BY HALF-TONE ENGRAVINGS AND ARTISTIC DRAWINGS OF MEN 
AND EVENTS CONNECTED KITH OLR COUNTRY'S HISTORY 



American History 
Copyrighted 1892, 1898, 1904 




^■-*'y?CV'YT T'TTy'fftX^'^'^*''''''fT''''^^ 



^1 

lOXXXXXJXCOOOCOCKXXOOOCQXiOOQglyCOOOC O C O CO 



INTRODUCTION. 




T is more than four hundred years since Columbus caught his first 
glimpse of the western world, but it is only about two hundred and 
seventy-five years since the work of making this continent habitable 
began. From Jamestown and from Plymouth the streams of ex- 
ploration and colonization flow steadily westward and southward, 
gathering volume and momentum until they unite the great oceans 
and cover the continent. The story of this vast unfolding of life 
under new conditions is told in this volume by different pens, but with one 
controlling idea — to show how and by what means a great nation grew out of the 
few and scattered seeds of a small emigration from beyond the sea. The great 
English statesman, Burke, has said somewhere that to be a statesman one must 
not only master the different conditions and occupations of a people, but must so 
realize them througfh his imaofination that he sees in them one unbroken life. 
This volume has been prepared in the hope that it will present the life of the 
American people so clearly, vividly and comprehensively that the unity and 
magnitude of that life will be more evident than they have ever been before. 
A great people in a great country has so many occupations, so many kinds of 
wealth, such differences of condition, that it loses at times the consciousness of 
its family ties and affections. There are so many kinds of Americans, they are 



vi THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

so widely scattered, and they are busy with such manifold interests, that the 
homestead is in great danger of being neglected by the children, and the sense 
of kinship is likely to be lost in the diversity of interests. 

We talk a great deal about our power but we do not realize it ; we cannot 
realize it until we understand what it is which gives us power. We use a great 
many figures to convey an impression of our acreage and crops ; but it is the 
farmer, the mechanic and the merchant who are the real capital of the country. 
Their character, energy, intelligence, thrift and practical sagacity constitute our 
real wealth ; the wealth which is not subject to the fluctuations of the market or 
the untimely conditions of the weather. This volume tells the story of material 
growth as fully and more comprehensively than most books ; but it tells also the 
story of America as it is written in the life, character and habits of the American 
man and woman. 

To knov/ the American you must know his ancestry and how he came where 
he now is ; that record is made here with a broad completeness which brings out 
the immense variety and volume of race force and character behind the people 
on this continent. To know the American you must know what religious, social 
and political influences shaped and moulded the lives of his forefathers ; those 
influences are all marked and traced here. To know the American of to-day 
you must know what experiences have befallen him on this side the ocean, how 
he has fared and what he has accomplished ; accordingly his history is fully 
spread out in these pages, and his explorations, settlements, wars, growth are 
told, not in detail but so as to cover the ground strongly and effectively. To 
know the American you must know what he is doing to-day ; where his work is 
and how he does it ; how he travels ; what inventions he uses ; what mechanical 
genius he displays ; what books he reads ; what church he attends ; what schools 
he maintains ; what his pleasures are ; and how he employs his wealth. This 
volume answers these questions. It is at once a history, a story, an encyclopaedia 
of national information, and a text-book of national character. It reports travels, 
describes settlements, gives account of wars, traces political ideas and growth, 
follows the lines of trade and of national prosperity, pictures what is going on in 
the shop, the office, the church, the school, the mine, the garden, the grain field, 
the home. It supplies the historic background of American life, and against this 
background it spreads out that life in broad, clear lines of growth and activity. 
It is the story of America, but it is still more the story of the American, Well- 
done or ill-done, it aims at nothing less than to show the American as he lives 
and works on the continent which he has conquered by sheer force of energy 
and intelligence. 

There is no romance so marvelous as this record of fact ; none so full of 
incident, adventure, heroism, and human vicissitude. From the voyages of the 
earliest Spanish, French, and English explorers to the inventions and discoveries 



INTRODUCTION. vii 

of Edison the story never fails of thrilling interest. It is a romance of humanity 
written by the hand of Providence on the clean, broad page of a new continent. 
It is a Bible for new illustration of the old laws of right and wrong which underlie 
all history ; but it is a modern version of The Arabian Nights for marvels and 
miracles of human skill and achievements. The building of Aladdin's palace 
was a small affair compared with the building of some of our States ; and 
the rubbing of Aladdin's lamp was but a faint burnishing compared with 
the glow of prosperity which hard work has brought out on the face of this 
continent. There is no romance so wonderful as the story of life told, not by 
novelists of varying degrees of skill, but by great multitudes of eager, ener- 
getic men and women. It is doubtful if any country has ever developed 
greater energy of spirit or greater variety of character than this ; and this is 
the chief reason why our history has such significance and such fruitage of 
achievement. 

To know this history is a duty and a delight. A man whose brave ancestors 
have carried the name he bears far, and made it a synonym for courage and 
honor, is rightly proud of his descent and gets from it a new impulse to bear as 
brave a part in his own day. Americans can honestly cherish such pride ; it is 
justified by what lies behind them. No man can be truly patriotic who does not 
know something of the nation to which he belongs, and of the country in which 
he lives. Such knowledge is a part of intelligent citizenship. In this country, 
where the government rests on the intelligence and virtue of the entire popula- 
tion, such a knowledge is a duty and a necessity. Men who reach eminence in 
their professions invariably have large ideas of those professions ; they know the 
history of the profession and the names of those who have advanced its influence 
and secured its honors. A man of business who takes the lead in his particular 
line of trade is uniformly distinguished by his superior knowledge of business 
problems and conditions. He studies his business in its large relations to the 
business of the country ; he looks at it with the eyes of a statesman. The 
intelligent American cannot be ignorant of the great history in which he has had 
so vital an interest, or of the life of his country to-day. Not to know these 
things is to miss a noble and inspiring landscape which we might see simply 
by the lifting up of the eyes. 

It is for the family that this volume was primarily prepared. America is 
pre-eminently the country of homes ; that is the country which, by its free 
institutions and its large social and industrial conditions, makes comfortable 
homes possible to its entire population. These homes are not only the sources 
of happiness and the nurseries of purity and prosperity ; they are also the 
schools of citizenship. From these schools are graduated year after year, in 
unbroken and never-ending classes, the men and women who continue and 
.enlarge the work and the influence of the nation. The Bible has been and will 



viii THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

remain the great text-book in these schools ; but other books are needed, and 
this book aims to take its place as an indispensable book of instruction and 
entertainment. The history of a race is the best possible material for the educa- 
tion of the children of that race. We know this by instinct, and we act by 
instinct when we hold up constantly the lives and achievements of our great 
men as illustrations of honor, honesty and capacity. No teaching is so effective 
as that which flows from persons and characters rather than from abstract 
principles and statements. Few boys care for patriotism as a quality of character, 
but every boy knows on the instant what patriotism means when the names of 
Washington and Lincoln are spoken in his hearing. These great men render 
through character an even higher service than they render through sacrifice and 
action. They embody great virtues, they stand for great principles, they 
illustrate noble qualities. Being dead they still speak with voices whose range 
and power are denied to teachers who impart truth but do not live it on a great 
scale. Alfred the Great has been and still is one of the most persuasive and 
inspiring teachers England has ever had. His name brings instantly to mind 
the noblest traits of English manhood, the grandest type of English citizenship. 
To tell his story to a boy is to teach him the deepest lessons of life while he 
does not suspect anything more enduring than the entertainment of an hour. 
History is summed up in great men, and every virtue, every vice, every decisive 
popular movement is identified with or incarnated in some great man. The 
name of Washington is a most familiar name for truthfulness and integrity, 
that of Arnold for baseness and treachery, that of Jefferson for the democratic 
idea, the rule of the people. These names are always in the air because they 
have their general and enduring meanings ; and no man can estimate their 
educational value to the country. They are heard on every political platform, 
but they are heard still more frequently in the school room, and they are of 
more use there than most text-books. 

It was the custom among some nations of antiquity to repeat to each fresh 
generation the noble deeds of their ancestors, thus making history a great oral 
tradition, and turning it from a dead record into a living romance. Real educa- 
tion is not knowledge of books but knowledge of life, and books are useful 
only so far as they lead us to this kind of knowledge. What men have been 
and have done is the best material for the education which trains one in cour- 
age, honesty, and energy as well as in mental quickness and skill. The Athenian 
boys learned Homer by heart; the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" took the place of 
the pile of books which the school-boy of to-day carries under his arm when he 
sets his " morning face " schoolward. In this way boys learned beauty and 
eloquence of speech, and imbibed the spirit of art while they were yet at their 
games. But they learned even greater things than these ; they grew up with 
the heroes of their race and took part in their great deeds. The bravest and 



mfRODUCTION. ix 

most poetic, things which their race had done were familiar and became dear to 
them while their natures were most receptive and responsive. The past was 
not dim and obscure to them as it is to too many Americans ; it was a living 
past, full of splendid figures and heroic deeds. To boys so bred in the very 
arms and at the very heart of their race it was a glorious privilege to be an 
Athenian ; to share in a noble history, to be a citizen of a beautiful city, to have 
the proud consciousness of such place and fame among men. It is not surpris- 
ing that as the result of such an education the small city of Athens produced 
more great men in all departments in the brief limits of a century than most 
other cities have bred in the long course of history. There was a vital, inspir- 
ing education behind that splendid flowering of art, literature, philosophy and 
statesmanship. 

The American boy and girl ought to have the same education. Too many 
grow up with the most indefinite ideas of their own country. They do not 
know what has been done here ; they do not even know how people live in 
other parts of the broad land. They know something of their own commu- 
nities, but they are ignorant of the greater community to which they belong. 
The story of the country's birth and growth, of its struggles and achievements, 
of its wonderfully diversified life, of its heroic men and noble women, ought to 
be familiar to every boy and girl from earliest childhood. This knowledge is 
the A B C of real education. It is to furnish this knowledge that this volume 
has been largely prepared. The home is never isolated and solitary ; it is one 
of a great community of homes stretching across the continent. To get the 
best and the most out of its beautiful relations and its manifold opportunities, 
each home must develop the sense of kinship with other homes, and the con-, 
sciousness of common responsibility. Every child must fill a place in the 
nation and the world as well as in the home. He must know, therefore, what 
the nation is and what it demands of him. He must feel the deep and wonder- 
ful life, active and powerful over a whole continent, in which he shares and to 
which he contributes. 

This is the age o.' community feeling ; the sense of brotherhood among men 
of all races has never before been so pervasive and so real. A famine on the 
banks of the Volga brings quick response from the prosperous fields about the 
Mississippi. Nothing that happens in the remotest corner of the world is with- 
out interest. To know how the other half lives is not only a universal desire, 
but a universal duty. This volume not only makes the present acquainted with 
the past and so gives its historic background, but it brings to each occupation 
and profession the work and condition of every other occupation and profession, 
and it lays before each section of the country the aspects and habits of every 
other section. It is a national book ; it describes the West to the East and the 
North to the South. It tells the merchant how the farmer lives ; it gives the 



X THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

mechanic a picture of the miner's Hfe ; it furnishes the planter a glimpse 
of the herdsman. It unfolds a map of the whole country, not in the hard 
and fast lines of geography, but in the streaming, rushing life of an 
inmense and energetic people. It supplies a clear and comprehensive view of 
^the government in all its functions of administration ; it describes the great cities ; 
it follows and pictures the countless channels and instrumentahties of travel and 
commerce ; it delineates the work of the farmer, the mechanic, the miner, the 
merchant ; it has something to say about churches, colleges, schools, literature, 
charities. It is, in a word, a national chart, text-book, history and romance for 
the home. 

In the preparation of this volume we have had the assistance of a number 
of experienced writers specially qualified to present the subjects assigned to 
them. This co-operation of knowledge and work was not only necessitated by 
the magnitude and comprehensiveness of a book covering a period of four hun- 
dred years and embracing all the aspects, — historical, religious, industrial, social, 
and intellectual, — of the nation's life, but was deliberately chosen because it en- 
sured greater variety, interest, and thoroughness than any single author could give 
such a work. Its advantages were recognized as counterbalancing the additional 
expense involved. We have, however, planned the entire work, and, with the 
exception of the chapters which are signed by their writers, have outlined and 
thoroughly revised every part we have not ourselves written, thus securing 
unity of aim and purpose throughout. 

Hamilton W. Mabie. 
Marshal H. Bright. 




■* Model op 

U.S. /^AN OP War 

•BuiLt- fon- c;(hiBi7- at- Woi^Los-FaiA. iccs 



AMERICAN HISTORY 

FROM THE TIMES OF THE NORSEMEN TO THE PRESENT DAY, 
INCLUDING THE ADMINISTRATION OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT 



PAOB 

INTRODUCTION 5 

CHAPTER I. 
FINDING THE NEW COUNTRY 

Discovery and Discoverers — The Norsemen — Did They Discover America ? — The Evi- 
dence — Conclusions — Columbus — Early Years — Characters of His Time — Leaves 
Italy for Portugal — His Plan — Sees the King — The King's Indifference — Visits 
Spain — A True Friend — Disappointment and Delay — Ferdinand — His Coolness to 
Columbus' Project — Isabella — Exorbitant Terms — At Last Success — The Expedi- 
tion from Palos — Mutiny — Columbus' Firmness — Mistaken Signs — Land at Last — 
A New World Found — Returns to Spain — Voyages and Discoveries — Humiliation 
—His Death at Valladolid 17 

CHAPTER II. 
SETTLING THE NEW COUNTRY 

Beginnings of Immigration — Condition of Europe — First Attempt at Colonization — The 
Thirty Years' War — First Roanoke Colony — Women and the Colonists — Raleigh 
Assigns His Patent — Acadie — The Virginia Charter — Laziness and 111 Feeling — 
Obtaining a New Charter — The Pocahontas Myth — ^John Smith — His Character — 
The Plymouth Colony — A Cruel Winter — Miles Standish — Picturesque Charters — 
Massachusetts Bay Colony — Indian Wars — ^Boundary Disputes — Two Meetings — 
Hendrick Hudson — New Amsterdam — Penn — The Friends — Rapid Success of the 
Quakers 43 

CHAPTER III. 

MAKING THE NEW PEOPLE 

The Colonists' New Condition — Land and Labor — The Rice Swamps of Carolina — The 
Plantation — The Farm — Forcing a Staple — A Mulberry Tree Law — Manorial Rights 
in Virginia — The Feudal System — The Origin of the Virginia Parish — The County 



LIST OF CHAPTERS AND SUBJECTS 



and the Court — Caste— The American Baron — White Trash — Equality in New 
England — White Slaves — Religious Freedom — Character of the Puritans — Early 
Histories of Massachusetts — Cotton Mather and the Witches — New York's Auto 
Da Fe — Symbolism — The Quaker and the Puritan — A Protest Against Persecution 
— The Blue Laws — The Hudson River Estates — Schools North and South — The 
Spread of Intelligence 6i 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE 

Character of the War — The British Plan of Campaign — Bunker Hill — Ticonderoga — 
The Declaration of Independence — Battle of Long Island — Harlem Heights — 
Washington Crossing the Delaware — Trenton and Princeton — Burgoyne's Expe- 
dition — Surrender of Burgoyne — Howe at Philadelphia — Battle of Germantown — 
Washington at Valley Forge — The French Alliance — Monmouth Court House — 
Invasion of Georgia and South Carolina — Gates' Failure — Greene's Strategy — 
Benedict Arnold's Treachery — Paul Jones and the Serapis — At Yorktown — Wash- 
ington's Decisive Move — Surrender of Comwallis — Independence Acknowledged . 75 



CHAPTER V. 

STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY AND GOVERNMENT 

BY FRANCIS NEWTON THORPE, Ph.D. 

PROFESSOR OF SCHOOL OF AMERICAN HISTORY AND INSTITDTIONS, UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA 

Colonization — Some Results — Popular Rights — New England — The Struggle for Liberty 
— Limitations — The English Idea — Colonial Legislatures — The Money Question — 
Governing Outside of Charter Limitations— Taxation — Those Tea Chests — The 
Struggle for Independence — Confederation — The Franchise — Property Qualification 
• — That Star of Empire — ^Its Westward Course — ^Then and Now, Etc 95 



CHAPTER VI. 
THE SECOND WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE, OR THE WAR OF I8J2 

Meaning of the War — Its Causes — Neutral Rights — Impressing American Sailors — Insults 
and Outrages — The Chesapeake and the Leopard — Injury to American Commerce — 
Paper Blockades — The Orders in Council — Embargo as Retaliation — Our Naval 
Glory in this War — Failure of the Campaign against Canada — Hull's Surrender at 
Detroit — Splendid Victories at Sea — The Co7istitution and the Guerriire — The Wasp 
and the Frolic — Other Sea Duels — American Privateers — On the Lakes — Perry's 
Great Victory — Land Operations — Battle of the Thames — Wilkinson's Fiasco — The 
Shamion and the Chesapeake — English Reinforcements — Lundy's Lane and Platts- 
burg — The Burning of Washington — Baltimore Saved — General Jackson at New 
Orleans — The Treaty of Peace — The Hartford Convention 115 



LIST OF CHAPTERS AND SUBJECTS xui 

PAOB 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR 

Secession — Not Exclusively a Southern Idea — An Irrepressible Conflict — Coming Events 
— Lincoln — A Nation in Arms — Sumter — Anderson — McClellan — Victory and De- 
feat — Monitor and Merrimac — Antietam — Shiloh — Buell — -Grant — George H. 
Thomas — Rosecrans — Porter — Sherman — Sheridan — Lee — Gettysburg — A Great 
Fight — Sherman's March— The Confederates Weakening — More Victories — Appo- 
mattox — Lee's Surrender — From War to Peace — Etc., Etc 131' 

CHAPTER VIII. 

OUR FLAG AT SEA 

The Origin of the American Navy — ^John Paul Jones and his Famous Victory — Sights 
on Guns and What They Did — Suppressing the Barbary Pirates — Opening Japan — 
Port Royal — Passing the Forts — The Monitor and the Merrimac — In Mobile Bay — 
The Kearsarge and the Alabama — Naval Architecture Revolutionized — ^The Samoan 
Hurricane — Building a New Navy 153 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE NORTHWEST 

BY ALBERT SHAW, LL.D. 

SDITOR OF REVIEW OF REVIEWS. 

A Shifting, Uncertain Designation — A Great, Arable Wedge — Prairies Peopled as if by 
Magic — Railroads the Pioneers and Colonizers — The Bleak, Scorching Prairies and 
"Claim Shanties" of 1870 — Transformed into a Garden-like Landscape — The Dairy 
and Live-Stock Farms of To-day, with their Fragrant Meadows and Ample Groves — 
The Rapid Destruction of the Vast White-Pine Forests — Its Resultant Development 
of the Country — The Hardships that Preceded Iron Rails in the Treeless Region — 
The Schoolhouse of Turf— -The Industrial Life Based Solidly upon Agriculture — 
Who is the Western Farmer ? — Conflicts between the Transportation Corporations 
and the Farmers Developing the Principle of Public Regulation of Rates — Other 
Industries — The "Twin Cities" — The Capital — The Northwestern Educational Sys- 
tem — Radicalism and the Temperance Movement — The Spirit of Action Intense — 
The Race Problems — The Large Scandinavian Element of Population — Progress of 
the Northwestern Social and Intellectual Life 173 

CHAPTER X. 

DIFnCULTIES WITH FOREIGN POWERS 

Perpetual Peace Impossible — The Barbary States— Buying Peace — Uncle Sam Aroused — 
Thrashes the Algerine Pirates — A Splendid Victory — King Bomba Brought to Terms 
— Austria and the Koszta Case — Captain Ingraham — His Bravery — " Deliver or I'll 
Sink You ' ' — Austria Yields — The Paraguayan Trouble — Lopez Comes to Terms — 
The Chilian Imbroglio — Balmaceda — The Insult to the United States — American 
Seamen Attacked — Matta's Impudent Letter — Backdown — Peace — All's Well That 
Ends Well, Etc 185 



xiv LIST OF CHAPTERS AND SUBJECTS 

FAGB 

CHAPTER XI. 

HOW WE GOVERN OURSELVES 

BY ANNA L. DAWES 

The National Government — Congress — How Composed — Duties — Executive — Election 
of President — Cabinet — Judiciary — Powers of Supreme Court — Federal System — 
Relation of States to Nation — The Rights and Duties of Citizens 203 

CHAPTER XII. 

OUR PRESIDENTS 

The Statesmen Who Have Occupied the Presidential Chair — Brief Sketches of Their Lives 
— The Memorable Events of Their Administrations — The Important Facts of Our 
Political, Commercial, and Social History Since the Adoption of the Constitution 214 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR 

Opening Incidents — Bombardment of Matanzas — Dewey's Wonderful Victory at Manila 
— Disaster to the Winslow at Cardenas Bay — The First American Loss of Life — 
Bombardment of San Juan, Porto Rico — The Elusive Spanish Fleet — Bottled-up in 
Santiago Harbor — Lieutenant Hobson's Daring Exploit — Second Bombardment of 
Santiago and Arrival of the Army — Gallant Work of the Rough Riders and the 
Regulars — Battles of San Juan and El Caney — Destruction of Cervera's Fleet — 
General Shafter Reinforced in Front of Santiago — Surrender of the City — General 
Miles in Porto Rico — Conquest of the Philippines — Peace Negotiations and Signing 
of the Protocol — Its Terms — The Peace Commission in Paris — Conclusion of Its 
Work — Terms of the Treaty — Ratified by the Senate 239 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CLOSING EVENTS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES MORRIS 

Affairs in Cuba and Porto Rico — Dewey's Promotion and Return — The Philippine Situa- 
tion — Aguinaldo's Insurrection — The War in Luzon — ^The Philippine Commission — 
Amnesty Proclaimed — Presidential Nomination in 1900 — Party Platforms — Affairs 
in China — The Boxer Outbreak — The Census of 1900— Pan-American Exposition — 
The Death of President McKinley 273 

CHAPTER XV. 

TWENTIETH CENTURY EVENTS 
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES MORRIS 

President Roosevelt — Opening of his Administration — The Nicaragua Canal Route — 
The Pan-American Congess — Exposition at Charleston, South Carolina — The Presi- 
dent's First Message — The Settlement of the Alaskan Boundary Dispute — Ratifica- 
tion of Reciprocity Treaty with Cuba — The New Republic in Panama — Preparations 
for the St. Louis Exposition 288 




KING PHILIPS \VAR— DEATH OF THE KING 

In 1B7.5 this famous Indian enliiled in his service nearly all the New Knglanil tribes in a war against the settlers. 




Drawn t^v A, R. Wani 

GALLUPS RECAPTURE OF OLDHAMS BOAT, 1636 

" Steer straight for the vessel," cried Gallup, and stationing himself at the bow he opened fire on the I iidians. 

Every time his gun flashed some one was hit. Thi^ incident was the beginning of the Peqiiot War. 




THE MARRIAGE OF POCHAHONTAS. 




CHAPTER I. 



KINDINQ XHE NEW COUNTRY. 




HILE Discovery, whether disclosing unknown lands beyond 
untried seas, or revealing the method of subduing and 
utilizing to man's service some one of the mighty forces of 
Nature, has startled the world more than Conquest, scarcely 
less surprising than some discoveries is the fact that the 
world has so often and for so long a time seemed to call for 
a discoverer in vain. Notably this is the case with the two 
most important discoveries that have ever been made, and 
both in the fifteenth century — that of the art of printing 
of a new world. For thousands of years the world had 
lought into permanent legible characters by means of the 
stylus, the stalk of the papyrus, or the chisel. Slow and laborious were these 
methods, yet the splendid civilizations of the great Eastern Empires, the 
Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, and the Medo-Persian, had produced their 
literature without the aid of the printing press, while the later civilizations of 
Greece* and Rome — countries that gave to all corhing time the noblest litera- 
tures — transcribed them by the painful process of the pen. 

The wonderful brain of the Greek could construct a Parthenon, the wonder 
of the age ; and the Roman reared that pile, so noble in its simplicity — the 
Pantheon ; yet neither could discern the litde type that should make the rapid 

3 17 



and the finding 
transcribed its t 



1 8 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

multiplying of letters easy, nor place in relief upon a block of wood the tracery 
of a single leaf ; and the wonder is no less, but increases as we consider the fact 
that two vast continents, the half of an entire planet, had for so many centuries 
eluded the gaze of men who went down to the sea in ships, who for centuries 
had navieated an inland sea for two thousand miles, while from Iceland and 
Jutland intrepid mariners and Buccaneers had plowed the ocean with their 
keels. 

For nearly three centuries before the angels sung at Bethlehem, Aristotle, 
following the teachings of the Pythagoreans, had asserted the spheroidicity 
of the earth, and had declared that the great Asiatic Empire could be reached 
by sailing westwardly, a view that was confirmed by Seneca, the Spaniard, who 
affirmed that India could be reached in this way ; and all down the centuries 
the probability of discovery, as we now look back upon those times, seems to 
be increasing ; but, somehow, Discovery still refused to enter the open gate 
leading to the New World, and this, notwithstanding the fact that the Canary 
and Madeira Islands had been discovered some years before, and the Portuguese 
navigators had followed the coast of Africa for thousands of miles, as far as 
the Cape of Good Hope, Columbus himself having skirted the coast to the 
Cape of Storms. The spheroidicity of the earth was generally accepted by 
enlightened men, though the Copernican system was not known, and it was 
believed that there must be a large unknown continent to the west. There 
was such a continent — two of them indeed — and they were nearer the African 
coast, along which Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian navigators had coursed, 
than the distance they had covered from the Pillars of Hercules to the Cape 
of Good Hope. Yet, though the times wanted a discoverer, he was not to be 
found. 

WAS AMERICA DISCOVERED BY THE NORSEMEN ? 

This has long been a disputed question. Norse scholarship has always 
insisted upon the discovery ; scholars looking upon the matter from the outside 
have disputed the claim. One of the principal chains of evidence offered here- 
tofore has been supplied by the Norse Sagas — stories of mingled fact, 
romance and myth ; but they have been distrusted, and up to recent time the 
preponderance of evidence has rather been against the Icelandic claim. But 
latterly new evidence has been brought to light, which seems to fully establish the 
fact of the discovery of America by the Norsemen from Iceland, about A. D 
looo- 

To cite the testimony of the Sagas, one must suffice for evidence in that 
direction. The Eyrbyggia Saga — the oldest extant manuscript, remains of 
which date back to about the year 1300 — has the following: "After the recon- 
ciliation between Steinhor and the people of Alpta-firth, Thorbrand's sons, 
Snorri and Thorleif, went to Greenland. Snorri went to Wineland the Good with 



WAS AMERICA DISCOVERED BY THE NORSEMEN? 



19 



Karlsefni ; and when they were fighting with the Skrellings there in Wineland, 
Thorbrand Snorrason, a most valiant man, was killed." In the Icelandic Annals, 
also, the oldest of which is supposed to have been written in the south of 
Iceland about the year 1280, mention is made of Vineland. In the year 1121 
it is recorded that " Bishop Eric Uppsi sought Wineland." The same entry is 
found in the chronological lists. These would seem to supply historical 
references to the Norse discovery of America, set down in such a manner as to 
indicate that the knowledge of the fact was widely diffused. 

One of the most interesting accounts taken from the Norse records is that 
found in a parchment discovered in a Monastery library of the Island of Flato, 




ON THE COAST OF NOVA SCOTIA. 



and which was transferred to Copenhagen and submitted to the inspection of 
Professor Rafn and other noted Icelandic scholars. Professor Rafn reproduces 
the record in his "Antiquities." The story is as follows: "In the year 996, 
while sailing from Iceland to Greenland, Biarne Heriulfson was driven southward 
by a storm, when they came in sight of land they had never before seen. Biarne 
did not try to land, but put his ship about and eventually reached Greenland, 
Four years after, in A. D. 1000, Leif the son of Eric the Red, sailed from 
Brattahlid in search of the land seen by Biarne. This land Leif soon discovered; 
he landed, it is supposed, on the coast of Labrador, which he named Helluland, 
because of the numerous flat stones found there, from the word hella, a flat 
stone. 

Finding the shore inhospitable, he again set sail and soon reached a coast 



20 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

corresponding to Nova Scotia. This he called Markland (Woodland). Leif 
put to sea a third time, and after two days' buffeting landed, it is supposed, in 
Mount Hope Bay, in Rhode Island. Here the adventurers wintered, and noted 
that on the shortest day the sun rose at 7.30 a. m., and set at 4.30 p. m. After 
naming the newly discovered land Vineland, on account of the profusion of 
wild grapes, he returned in the following spring to Greenland." 

But it is only just to cite opinions on the other side. In his History Me. 
Bancroft denies that the alleged discovery of the North American mainland is 
established by any clear historical evidence. He admits, indeed, that there is 
nothing intrinsically improbable in the notion that the colonizers of Greenland 
(and the early colonization of Greenland is admitted) may have explored the 
coast to the South. But the assertion that they actually did so rests, he says, 
on narratives "mythological in form, obscure in meaning, ancient, yet not 
contemporary." Mr. Justin Winsor, the well-known historian, seems unwilling 
to admit the trustworthiness of the epical accounts of the voyages of the 
Northmen to the so-called Vineland. 

But a recent writer, Mr. Arthur Middleton Reeves, well versed in Scandi- 
navian and Icelandic literature, has lately come forward to maintain the reality 
of the discovery ascribed to the Northmen, and has set forth an imposing array 
of evidence and argument in support of his belief Mr. Reeves finds his proofs 
not in the Sagas alone, which Bancroft and Winsor reject, .but he has also 
gathered together the preceding references to the Vineland voyages, which are 
scattered through the early history of Iceland. From these last mentioned data 
it seems clearly demonstrable that the discovery of the American mainland took 
place, as has been claimed, about A. D. 1000, and was well known in Greenland 
and Iceland long before any of the three Sagas dealing with the theme were 
penned, for there is documentary proof reaching so far back as about the year 
1 1 10. 

Among the proofs brought forward, is the story as told by the Icelandic 
scholar, Ari the Learned, who was born in Iceland in the year 1067, and who 
died in 1148. In Ari's book, narrating the colonization of Greenland, he says 
that the settlers perceived, from the dwellings, the fragments of boats, and the 
stone implements, that the people had been there who inhabited Wineland, and 
whom the Greenlanders called " Skrellinofs." Furthermore, in the Collectanea 
of Middle-age Wisdom, a manuscript written partly in Icelandic and partly 
in Latin, between the years 1400 and 1450, it is stated that "southward from 
Greenland is Helluland ; thence is Markland ; thence it is not far to Wineland 
the Good. Leif the Lucky first found Greenland." In another historical vellum 
document it is stated that "from Greenland to the southward lies Helluland, 
then Markland, thence it is not far to Wineland ;" and in another vellum of 
the year 1400, it is said "south from Greenland lies Helluland, then Markland, 




WILLIAM PENN, THE GOOD AND WISE RULER 

lnll>82lienegnlialed his famous treaty with the Indians, and r.nmded the Comninnwealih .,f rrnnsyU aiiia. 



THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF COLUMBUS. 



21 



thence it is not far to Vineland." Still again — and the evidence must end with 
this citation — in an old manuscript, written according to the Icelandic scholar 
Dr. Vigfasson, as early as 1 260-1 280, referring to the date A. D. 1000, the manu- 
script records : " Wineland the Good found. That summer King Olaf sent Leif 
to Greenland, to proclaim Christianity there. He sailed that summer to Green- 
land. He found in the sea men upon a wreck, and helped them. There found 
he also Wineland the Good, and arrived in the autumn at Greenland." 

It is objected to the discovery of America from Greenland that no runic 
(Scandinavian) inscriptions have been found in any part of the North American 
continent. But the answer to this objection is that the Northmen never 
pretended that they had colonized 
Vineland ; they simply recounted their 
discovery of the country and their 
unsuccessful attempts to colonize it. 
Runic inscription^, therefore, and other 
archaeological remains, are not to be 
expected in a region where no perma- 
nent settlements were made. Besides, 
as Mr. Reeves points out, the rigorous 
application of the test would make the 
discovery of Iceland itself disputable. 
In conclusion, as to this matter, we 
have only to add that the statements 
put forth seem not only to confirm what 
we meet with in the Sagas, but, taken 
by themselves alone, they seem to fully 
establish the fact of the discovery of 
America by the Icelanders, even had 

the Sagas never been written. And now leaving the Norsemen and their dis' 
coveries we come to 

THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF COLUMBUS. 

It was the glory of Italy to furnish the greatest of the discoverers of the 
New World. Not only Columbus, but Vespucci (or Vespucius), the Cabots, and 
Verazzani were born under Italian skies ; yet singularly enough the country of 
the Caesars was to gain not a square foot of territory for herself w^here other 
nations divided majestic continents between them. So, too, in the matter of 
Columbus biography and investigation, up to the present time but one Italian, 
Professor Francesco Tarducci, has materially added to the sum of the world's 
knowledge in a field pre-eminently occupied by Washington Irving, Henry 
Harrisse, and Roselly de Lorgues, a Frenchman, — these comprising the powerful 
original writers in Columbian biography. 




CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 



22 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



In treating our subject we naturally begin at the starting point of 
"biography, the birthplace. The generally accepted statement has been that 
Columbus was born at Genoa, especially as Columbus begins his will with the 
well-known declaration, "I, being born in Genoa." 

But it has been asserted by numerous writers that in this Columbus 
was mistaken, just as for a long time General Sheridan was mistaken in 
supposing himself to have been born in a little Ohio town, when he learned. 

within a year or two of his death, 
that he was born in Albany, N. Y. 
But passing this, it remains to be 
said that the evidence of the Geno- 
ese birth of Columbus may now be 
considered as fully established. As 
to the time of his birth there has 
been not a little question. Henry 
Harrisse, the American scholar al- 
ready referred to, placed it between 
March 25 th, 1446, and March 20th, 
1447. This, however, we can hardly 
accept, especially as it would make 
Columbus at the time of his first 
naval venture only thirteen years of 
age. Tarducci gives 1435 or 1436 
as the year of his birth. This is also 
the date given by Irving, and it 
would seem to be the most proba- 
ble. This is the almost decisive 
testimony of Andres Bernaldoz, bet- 
ter known as the Curate of Los 
Palacios, who was most intimate with 
Columbus and had him a great deal 
in his house. He says the death of 
Columbus took place in his seven- 
tieth year. His death occurred May 20th, 1506, which would make the year 
of his birth probably about 1436. And now starting with Genoa as the 
birthplace of Columbus and about the year 1435 or 1436 as the time of his 
birth, we proceed with our story. 

Christopher Columbus (or Columbo in Italian) was the son of Dominico 
Columbo and Susannah Fontanarossa his wife. The father was a wool carder, 
a business which seems to have been followed by the family through several 
generations. He was the oldest of four children, having two brothers, 




MONUMENT TO COLUMBUS AT GENOA. 



COLUMBUS AT PORTUGAL. 23 

Bartholomew and Giacomo (James in English, in Spanish, Diego), and one 
sister. Of the early years of Columbus Httle is known. It is asserted by 
some that Columbus was a wool comber — no mean occupation in that day — 
and did not follow the sea. On the other hand, it is insisted — and Tarducci 
and Harrisse hold to that view — that, whether or not he enlisted in expeditions 
against the Venetians and Neapolitans (and the whole record is misty and 
uncertain), Columbus at an early age showed a marked inclination for the 
sea, and his education was largely directed along the lines of his tastes, and 
included such studies as geography, astronomy, and navigation. Certain it 
is that when Columbus arrived at Lisbon he was one of the best geographers 
and cosmographers of his age, and was accustomed to the sea from infancy.* 
Happily his was an age favorable for discovery. The works of travel were 
brought to the front. Pliny and Strabo, sometime forgotten names, were 
more than Sappho and Catullus, which a later but not a better age affected. 
The closing decade of the fifteenth century was a time of heroism, of deeds 
of daring, and discovery. Rude and unlettered to some extent, it m.ay be 
conceded it was ; yet it was far more fruitful, and brought greater blessings 
to the world than are bestowed by the effeminate luxury which often character- 
izes a civilization too daintily pampered, too tenderly reared. Life then was 
at least serious. 

Right here it may be in place to state how invention promoted Columbian 
discovery. The compass had been known for six hundred years. But at this 
time the quadrant and sextant were unknown ; it became necessary to discover 
some means for finding the altitude of the sun, to ascertain one's distance 
from the equator. This was accomplished by utilizing the Astrolabe, an 
instrument only lately used by astronomers in their stellar work. This inven- 
tion gave an entirely new direction to navigation, delivering seamen from the 
necessity of always keeping near the shore, and permitting the little ships — 
small vessels they were — to sail free amidst the immensity of the sea, so that a 
ship that had lost its course, formerly obliged to grope its way back by the 
uncertain guidance of the stars, could now, by aid of compass and astralobe, 
retrace its course with ease. Much has justly been ascribed to the compass as 
a promoter of navigation ; but it is a question if the astralobe has not played 
quite as important a part. 

The best authorities place the arrival of Columbus at Lisbon about the year 
1470. It is probable Columbus was known by reputation to Alfonso V, King 
of Portugal. It is unquestionable that Columbus was attracted to Portugal 
by the spirit of discovery which prevailed throughout the Iberian peninsula, 
fruits of which were just beginning to be gathered. Prince Henry of Portugal, 

* Tarducci, I, 41. 



24 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



who was one of the very first of navigators, if not the foremost explorer of his 
day, had established a Naval College and Observatory, to which the most 
learned men were invited, while under the Portuguese flag the greater part of 
the African coast had been already explored. Having settled in Lisbon, at the 
Convent of All Saints, Columbus formed an acquaintance with Felipa Monis de 
Perestrello, daughter of Bartholomew de Perestrello, an able navigator but poor, 
with whom and two others Prince Henry had made his first discovery. The 
acquaintance soon ripened into love, and 
Columbus made her his wife. Felipa's father 




COLOMBUS PROPODNDING THE PROBLEM OF THE EGG TO THE WISE COnNClr.I.ORS OF THE KING. 



soon died, and then with his wife and her mother Columbus moved to Porto 
Santo, where a son was born to them, whom they named Diego. Felipa hence- 
forth disappears from history ; there is no further record of her. At Porto 
Santo Columbus supported his family and helped sustain his aged father, who 
was living poorly enough off at Savona, and who was forced to sell the little 
property he had, and whose precarious living led him to make new loans and 
incur new debts. 



CULUMBUS AND THE KING OF PORTUGAL. 25 

Meanwhile Columbus was imbibing to the full the spirit of discovery so 
widely prevalent. It was not his wife who materially helped him at this time, as 
has been asserted, but his mother-in-law, who, observing the deep interest that 
Columbus took in all matters of exploration and discovery, gave him all the 
manuscripts and charts which her husband had made, which, with his own 
voyages to some recently discovered places, only renewed the burning desire 
for exploration and discovery. The leaven was rapidly working. 

But the sojourn at Portugal must be briefly passed over. The reports that 
came to his ears while living at Porto Santo only intensified his convictions of 
the existence of an empire to the West. He heard of great reeds and a bit of- 
curiously carved wood seen at sea, floating from the West ; and vague rumors 
reached him at different times, of "strange lands" in the Atlantic — most if not 
all of them mythical. But they continued to stimulate interest as they show the 
state of public thought at that time respecting the Atlantic, whose western regions 
were all unknown. All the reports and all the utterances of the day Columbus 
watched with closest scrutiny. He secured old tomes for fullest information as 
to what the ancients had written or the moderns discovered. All this served to 
keep the subject fresh in his mind, nor would it " down," for his convictions were 
constantly ministered to by contemporary speculators. Toscanelli, an Italian 
mathematician, had written, at the instance of King Alfonso, instructions for a 
western route to Asia. With him Columbus entered into correspondence, 
which greatly strengthened his theories. 

Now they came to a head. Constant thought and reflection resulted in 
his conception of an especial course to take, which, followed for a specific time, 
would result in the discovery of an empire. And the end ! He would subdue 
a great trans-Atlantic empire, and from its riches he would secure the wealth to 
devote to expeditions for recovering the Holy Land, and so he would pay the 
Moors dearly for their invasion of the Iberian peninsula, — a truly fanciful but 
not a wholly unreasonable conception, as the times were. 

COLUMBUS AND THE KING OF PORTUGAL. 

At last he found means to lay his project before the King of Portugal. 
But the royal councillors treated the attempt to cross the Atlantic as rash and 
dangerous, and the conditions required by Columbus as exorbitant. The 
adventurous King, John II, — Alfonso had died in 1481 — had more faith in his 
scheme than his wise men, and, with a dishonesty not creditable to him^ 
attempted at this time to reap the benefit of Columbus' studies and plans by 
sending out an expedition of his own in the direction and by the way traced in 
his charts. But the skill and daring of Columbus were wanting, and at the 
first mutterings of the sea the expedition sought safety in flight. It turned 
back to the Cape de Verde islands, and the officers took revenge for their 



26 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

disappointment by ridiculing the project of Columbus as the vision of a day 
dreamer. O, valiant voyagers ! — New Worlds are not discovered by such 
men as you ! 

Columbus's brother Bartholomew had endeavored about this time to 
interest the British monarch in the project, but the first of the Tudors had too 
much to do in quelling insurrection at home, and in raising revenues by illegal 
means, to spend any moneys on visionary projects. Henry III would have 
none of him. 

Meantime, indignant at the infamous treatment accorded him, and with 
his ties to Portugal already sundered by the death of his wife, he determined 
to shake the dust of Portugal off his feet, and seek the Court of Spain. He 
would start at once for Cordova, where the Spanish Court then was. Leaving 
Lisbon secretly, near the close of 1484, he chose to follow the sea coast to Palos, 
instead of taking the direct inland route, and most happily so ; for, in so doing 
he was to gain a friend and a most important ally ; this circumstance the 
unthinking man will ascribe to chance, but the believer to Providence. Weary 
and foot-sore, on his journey, he finally arrived at Palos, then a small port on 
the Atlantic, at the mouth of the Tinto, in Andalusia ; here hunger and want 
drove him to seek assistance from the charity of the Monks, and ascending the 
steep mountain road to the Franciscan monastery of Santa Maria de La 
Rabida, he met the pious prior. Father Juan Perez, who, struck with his 
imposing presence, despite his sorry appearance, entered into conversation with 
him. 

As the interview grew in interest to both the parties, Columbus was led to 
impart to the prior his great project, to the prior's increasing wonder, for in Palos 
the spirit of exploration was as regnant as in Lisbon. Columbus was invited 
to make the Convent his place of sojourn, an invitation he was only too glad 
to accept. Then Father Perez sent for his friend, a well known geographer 
of Palos, and, deeply interested in all that related to exploration and the 
discovery of new lands, the three took the subject into earnest consideration, 
thorough discussion of the question being had. It was not long before 
Father Perez — all honor to his name ! — became deeply interested in the plans 
of Columbus. To glorify God is the highest aim to which one can address 
himself ; of that feeling Father Perez was thoroughly possessed ; and how 
could he more fully glorify him than by aiding in the discovery of new lands 
and the spreading of Christianity there ? Impelled by this feeling, he urged 
Columbus to proceed at once to Cordova, where the Spanish Court then was, 
giving him money for his journey, and a letter of commendation to his friend, 
the father prior of the monastery of El Prado Fernando de Talavera, the 
queen's Confessor, and a person of great influence at Court. There was hope 
and there was a period of long and weary waiting yet before him. 



COLUMBUS AT THE SPANISH COURT ' 2/ 

Arriving at Cordova, Columbus found the city a great military camp, and 
all Spain aroused in a final effort to expel the Moors. Fernando, the Confessor, 
was a very different man from Perez, and instead of treating Columbus kindly, 
received him coolly, and for a long while actively prevented him from meeting 
the king. The Copernican theory, though held by some, was not at this time 
established, and the chief reason why the Confessor opposed Columbus's 
plan was unquestionably because he measured a scientific theory by appeal 
to the Scriptures — just as the Sacred Congregation did in Galileo's case a 
century and a half later — just as some well-meaning but mistaken souls do 
to-day. 

At length, through the friendship of de Ouintanilla, Comptroller of the 
Castilian Treasury, Geraldini, the Pope's nuncio, and his brother, AUessandro, 
tutor of the children of Ferdinand and Isabella, Columbus was made known to 
Cardinal Mendoza, who introduced him to the king. Ferdinand listened to him 
patiently, and referred the whole matter to a council of learned men, mostly 
composed of ecclesiastics, under the presidency of the Confessor. Here again 
dogma supplanted science, and controverted Columbus's theories by Scriptural 
texts, and caused delay, so it was not till 1491 — Columbus had now been 
residing in Spain six years — that the Commission reported the project "vain 
and impossible, and not becoming great princes to engage in on such slender 
©■rounds as had been adduced." 

The report of the Commission seemed a death-blow to the hopes of 
Columbus. Disappointed and sick at heart, and disgusted at six years of 
delay, Columbus turned his back on Spain, "indignant at the thought of having 
been beguiled out of so many precious years of waning existence." Deter- 
mined to lay his project before Charles VIII, of France, he departed, and 
stopped over at the little Monastery of La Rabida, from whose Prior, Juan 
Perez, six years before, he had departed with such sanguine hopes, for 
Cordova. 

The good friar was greatly mov'ed. Finally he concluded to make another 
and final effort. Presuming upon his position as the queen's Confessor, Perez 
made an appeal direct to Isabella, and this time with the result that an inter- 
view was arranged, at which Isabella was present. His proposals would have 
at once been accepted but that Columbus demanded powers* which even 

* His principal stipulations were (i) that he should have, for himself during his life, and 
his heirs and successors forever, the office of 'admiral in all the lands and continents which he 
might discover or acquire in the ocean, with similar honors and prerogatives to those enjoyed by 
the high admiral of Castile in his district. (2) That he should be viceroy and governor-general 
over all the said lands and continents, with the privilege of nominating three candidates for the 
government of each island or province, one of whom should be selected by the sovereigns. (3) 
That he should be entitled to reserve for himself one-tenth of all pearls, precious stones, gold, silver. 



28 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



de Talavera pronounced "arbitrary and 
presumptuous," though they were of like 
character with those conceded by Portu- 
gal to Vasco de Gamba. Angered and in- 
dignant at the rejection of his terms, 
which were conditioned 
only upon his success, 
Columbus impulsively 
left the royal presence, 
and taking leave of 
his friends, set 
out for France, 
determined to 



offer his services to 
Louis XII. 




ISABEIXA HAS A SOBER 
SECOND THOUGHT. 

But no sooner 
had Columbus gone, 
than the queen, who we may 
believe regretted the loss of 
possible glory of discovery, 
hastily despatched a messen- 
ger after him, who overtook 
him when two leagues away 
and brought him back. 

Although Ferdinand 

spices, and 4II other articles and merchan- 
dises, in whatever manner found, bought, 
bartered, or gained within his admiralty, the 
cost being first deducted. (4) That he, or 
his lieutenant, should be the sole judge in 
all causes and disputes arising out of traffic 
between those countries and Spain, provided 
the high admiral of Castile had similar 
jurisdiction in his district. 



COLUMBUS AND THE MESSENGER. 



t= 




^^ ■ 1. f TftM 




prawn bv (^ KendricT;. -^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^w- - 

DARING DESERTION OF JOHN CAMPE 
an In the English ranks, for the purpose of associating him-^elf with the traitor Benediit Arnold, 
sei/ine him and getting him alive into the hands of the Americans, 



From the American 



FITTING OUT THE EXPEDITION. 



29 



was opposed to the project, Isabella concluded to yield to Columbus his terms 
and agreed to advance the cost, 14,000 florins, about $7,000, from her own 
revenues, and so to Spain was saved the empire of a New World. On May 12 
Columbus took leave of the king and queen to superintend the fitting out of 
the expedition at the port of Palos. The hour and the man had at last met 



FITTIN'G OUT THE EXPEDITION. 

What thoughts and apprehensions filled the heart and mind of Columbus 
as he at last saw the yearning desires of years about to be met, may be to some 
extent conceived ; they certainly cannot be expressed. Not a general at the 
head of his great army who, at a critical moment in battle, sees the enemy make 
the false move which insures him the victory, could feel more exultant than 
Columbus must have felt when he left the pres- 
ence of the Spanish Court, and, after seven years 
of weary and all but hopeless waiting at last saw 
the possibilities of the great unknown opening up 
before him, and beheld, in a vision to him as clear 
and radiant as the sun shining in the heavens, a 
New World extending its arms and welcoming him 
to her embrace. It would seem as if everything 
now conspired to atone for the disappointing past. 
His old tried friend, Perez, prior of the La Rabida 
monastery, near Palos, received him with open arms, 
and well he might, for had not his kind offices 
made success possible ? And the authorities, as if 
to make good the disappointments of seven years, 
could not now do too much. All public officials, of 
all ranks and conditions in the maritime borders of 
Andalusia were commanded to furnish supplies and 
assistance of all kinds. Not only so, but as superstition and fear made ship 
owners reluctant to send their vessels on the expedition, the necessary ships 
and men were to be provided, if need be, by impressment, and it was in this 
way vessels and men were secured. 

In three, months the expedition was ready to sail. The courage of 
Columbus in setting sail in untried waters becomes more evident when we 
consider the size of the ships comprising the little expedition. They were 
three in number ; the largest of them, the Santa Maria, was only ninety feet 
long, being about the size of our modern racing yachts. Her smaller consorts, 
the Pinta and the Nina, were little caravels, very like our fishing smacks, 
without any deck to keep the water out. The Santa Maria had four masts, 
of which two were square rigged, and two fitted with lateen sails like those 




CARAVELS OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 
{A/ifr an engraving pubiished in 15S4.) 



30 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

used on the Nile boats ; this vessel Columbus commanded. Martin Alonzo 
Pinzon commanded the Pinta, and his brother, Vincente Yanez Pinzon, the 
Nina. The fleet was now all ready /or sea; but before setting sail Columbus 
and most of his ofificers and crew confessed to Friar Juan Perez, and partook 
of the Sacrament. Surely such an enterprise needed the blessing of heaven, 
if any did ! 

It was before sunrise on Friday morning, August 3, 1492, that Columbus, 
with 30 officers and adventurers and 90 seamen, in all 120 souls, set sail, "in 
the name of Christ," from behind the little island of Saltes. Those inclined to 
be superstitious regarding Friday will do well to note that it was on a Friday 
Columbus set sail from Palos ; it was on Friday, the 12th of October, that he 
landed in the New World ; on a Friday he set sail homeward ; on a Friday, 
again, the 15th of February, 1493, land was sighted on his return to Europe, 
and that on Friday, the 15th of March, he returned to Palos. The story of that 
eventful trip has never ceased to charm the world, nor ever will so long as 
the triumphs of genius, the incentives of religion, and the achievements of 
couraofe- have interest for mankind. 

It was Columbus's intention to steer southwesterly for the Canary Islands, 
and thence to strike due west — due to misconception occasioned by the very 
incorrect maps of that period. On the third day out the Pinta's rudder was 
found to be disabled and the vessel leaking, caused, doubtless, by her owner, 
who did not wish his vessel to go, — the ship having been impressed — and 
thinking to secure her return. Instead of this, Columbus continued on his 
course and decided to touch at the Canaries, which he reached on the 9th. 
Here he was detained for some weeks, till he learned from a friendly $ail that 
three Portuguese war vessels had been seen hovering off the island Gomera, 
where he was taking in wood, water, and provisions. Apprehensive, and 
probably rightly so, that the object was to capture his fleet, Columbus lost 
no time in putting to sea. 

AND NOW FOR THE NEW WORLD. 

It was early morning on the 6th of September that Columbus again set 
sail, steering due west, on an unknown sea. He need fear no hostile fleets, 
and he was beyond the hindrance of plotting enemies on shore ; and yet so far 
from escaping trouble it seemed as if he had but plunged into deeper tribulations 
and trials than ever. 

As the last trace of land faded from view the hearts of the crews failed 
them. They were going they knew not where ; would they ever return ? 
Tears and loud lamentings followed, and Columbus and his officers had all they 
could do to calm the men. After leaving the Canaries the winds were light and 
baffling, but always from the East. On the iith of September, when about 



AN ASTRONOMIC DISCOVERY. 



31 



450 miles west of Ferro, they saw part of 
a mast floating by, which, from its size, 
appeared to have belonged to a vessel of 
about 120 tons burden. To the crew this 
meant the story of wreck ; why not pro- 
phetic of their own ? The discovery only 
added to their fears. And now a remark- 
able and unprecedented phenomenon pre- 







sented itself "As true 
as the needle to the 

f-- ■jf': trt WHnia ST • pole" may be a pretty 

I '""f^HJ^wSBB^Hr*^*^ simile, but it is false in 

hW«9ra!Biiiiflinj^ fact. For, on the 13th 

of September, at night-* 
fall, Columbus, for the 
first time in all his experience, discovered that the needle did not point to 
the North star, but varied about half a point, or five and a half degrees to the 
northwest. As he gave the matter close attention Columbus found the variation 



THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, AS PREDICTED BY COLUMBUS. 



' 32 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

to increase with every day's advance. This discovery^ at first kept secret, 
was early noticed by the pilots, and soon the news spread among the crews, 
exciting their alarm. If the compass was to lose its virtues, what was to become 
of them on a trackless sea ? Columbus invented a theory which was ingenious 
but failed wholly to allay the terror. He told them that the needle pointed to 
an exact point, but that the star Polaris revolved, and described a circle around 
the pole. Polaris docs revolve around a given point, but its apparent motion is 
slow, while the needle does not point to a definite fixed point. The true expla- 
nation of the needle variations — sometimes it fluctuates thirty or forty degrees — - 
is to be found in the flowingr of the electrical currents through the earth in 
different directions, upon which the sun seems to have an effect. 

Columbus took observations of the sun every day, with an Astrolabe, and 
shrewdly kept two logs every day. One of these, prepared in secret, contained 
the true record of the daily advance ; the other, showing smaller progress, was 
for the crew, by which means they were kept in ignorance of the great 
distance they were from Spain. 

INDICATIONS OF LAND. 

On the 14th of September the voyagers discovered a water-wagtail and a 
heron hovering about the ships, signs which were taken as indicating the 
nearness of land, and which greatly rejoiced the sailors. On the night of the 
15th a meteor fell within five lengths of the Santa Maria. On the i6th the 
ships entered the region of the trade winds ; with this propitious breeze, 
directly aft, the three vessels sailed gently but quickly over a tranquil sea, so 
that for many days not a sail was shifted. This balmy weather Columbus 
constantly refers to In his diary, and observes that "the air was so mild that it 
wanted but the song of nightingales to make it like the month of April in 
Andalusia." On the i8th of September the sea, as Columbus tells us, was "as 
calm as the Guadalquiver at Seville." Air and sea alike continued to furnish 
evidences of life and indications of land, and Pinzon, on the Pinta, which, being 
the fastest sailer, generally kept the lead, assured the admiral that indications 
pointed to land the following day. On the 19th, soundings were taken and no 
bottom found at two hundred fathoms. On the 20th, several birds visited the 
ships ; they were small song birds, showing they could not have come a very 
long distance ; all of which furnished cause for encouragement. 

But still discontent was growing. Gradually the minds of the men were 
becoming diseased through terror, even the calmness of the weather increasing 
their fears, for with such light winds, and from the east, too, how were they 
ever to get back ? However, as if to allay their feelings, the wind soon shifted 
to the southwest. 

A little after sunset on the 25th, Columbus and his officers were examining 



INDICATIONS OF LAND. 33 

their charts and discussing the probable location of the island Cipango,* which 
the admiral had placed on his map, when from the deck of the Pinta arose the 
cry of "Land ! Land ! " At once Columbus fell on his knees and gave thanks 
to Heaven. Martin Alonzo and his crew of the Pinta broke out into the 
"Gloria in Excelsis," in which the crew of the Santa Maria joined, while 
the men of the Nina scrambled up to the masthead and declared that they, 
too, saw land. At once Columbus ordered the course of the vessels to be 
changed toward the supposed land. In impatience the men waited for the 
dawn, and when the morning appeared, lo ! the insubstantial pageant had faded, 
the cloud-vision, for such it was, had vanished into thin air. The disappoint- 
ment was as keen as the enthusiasm had been intense ; silently they obeyed the 
admiral's order, and turned the prows of their vessels to the west again. 

A week passed, marked by further variations of the needle and flights of 
birds. The first day of October dawned with such amber weather as is common 
on the Atlantic coast in the month of "mists and yellow fruitfulness." The 
pilot on Columbus's ship announced sorrowfully that they were then 520 leagues, 
or 1560 miles, from Ferro. He and the crew were little aware that they had 
accomplished 707 leagues, or nearly 2200 miles. And Columbus had a strong 
incentive for this deception ; for, had he not often told them that the length of 
his voyage would be 700 leagues ? — and had they known that this distance had 
already been made, what might they not have done ! On the 7th of October the 
Nina gave the signal for land, but instead of land, as they advanced the vision 
melted and their hopes were again dissipated. 

The ship had now made 750 leagues and no land appeared. Possibly he 
had made a mistake in his latitude ; and so it was that, observing birds flying 
to the southward, Columbus changed his course and followed the birds, recalling, 
as he says in his journal, that by following the flight of birds going to their 
nesting- and feedingf grounds the Portusfuese had been so successful in their 
discoveries. On Monday, the 8th, the sea was calm, with fish sporting ever}''- 
where in great abundance ; flocks of birds and wild ducks passed by. Tuesday 
and Wednesday there was a continual passage of birds. On the evening of» 
this day, while the vessels were sailing close together, mutiny suddenly broke 
out. The men could trust to signs no longer. With cursing and imprecation 

* Cipango was an imaginative island based upon the incorrect cosmography of Toscanelli, 
whose map was accepted in Columbus's time as the most nearly correct chart of any extant. The 
Ptolemaic theory of 20,400 geographical miles as the Equatorial girth was accepted by Columbus, 
which lessened his degrees of latitude and shortened the distance he would have to sail to reach 
Asia. The island Cipango was supposed to be over 1000 miles long, running north and south, 
and the distance placed at 52 degrees instead of the 230 degrees which actually separates the coast 
of Spain from the eastern coast of Asia. The island was placed in about the latitude of the 
Gulf of Mexico. 

3 



34 LAND, HO! 

they declared they would not run on to destruction, and insisted upon returning 
to Spain. Then Columbus showed the stuff he was made of. He and they, he 
said, were there to obey the commands of their Sovereigns ; they must find the 
Indies. With unruffled calmness he ordered the voyage continued. 

On Thursday, the nth, the spirit of mutiny gave way to a very different 
feeling, for the signs of the nearness of land multiplied rapidly. They saw a 
green fish known to feed on the rocks, then a branch with berries on it, 
evidently recently separated from a tree, floated by them, and above all, a 
rudely carved staff was seen. Once more gloom and mutiny gave way to 
sanguine expectation. All the indications pointing to land in the evening, the 
ships stood to the west, and Columbus, assembhng his men, addressed them. 
He thought land might be made that night, and enjoined that a vigilant lookout 
be kept, and ordered a double watch set. He promised a silken doublet, in 
addition to the pension guaranteed by the Crown, to the one first seeing land. 

LAND, HO ! 

That night, the ever memorable night of Thursday, opening into the 
morning of Friday, the 1 2th of October, not a soul slept on any vessel. The 
sea was calm and a good breeze filled the sails, moving the ships along at 
twelve miles an hour ; they were on the eve of an event such as the world had 
never seen, could never see again. The musical rippling of the waves and the 
creaking of the cordage were all the sounds that were audible, for the birds 
had retired to rest. The hours passed slowly by. It was just past midnight 
when the admiral, with restless eye, sought to penetrate the darkness. Then a 
far-off light came to his vision. Calling Guiterrez, a court officer, he also saw 
it. At two in the morning a gun from the Pinta, which led the other boats, 
gave notice that land was at last found. A New World had indeed been 
discovered. The hopes of years had attained their fruition. It was Rodrigo de 
Triana, a seaman, who first saw land — though, alas ! he received neither promised 
doublet nor pension. Friday, the 12th of October, 1492, corresponding to the 
2 1st of October, 1492, of the present calendar, was the ever memorable day. 

The morning light came, and, lifting the veil that had concealed the 
supreme object of their hopes, revealed a low, beautiful island, not fifty miles 
long, and scarcely two leagues away. Columbus gave the signal to cast anchor 
and lower the boats, the men to carry arms. Dressed in a rich costume of 
scarlet, and bearing the royal standard, upon which was painted the image of 
the crucified Christ, he took the lead, followed by the other captains, Pinzon and 
Yanez. Columbus was the first to land ; and as soon as he touched the shore 
he fell down upon his knees and fervently kissed " the blessed ground " three 
times, returning thanks to God for the great favor bestowed upon him. The 
others followed his example ; and then, recognizing the Providence which had 



THE NEWLY FOUND LAND. 35 

crowned his efforts with success, he gave the name of the Redeemer — San 
Salvador — to the discovered island, which was called by the natives "Guana- 
hani." * And now the crews, who but a few days previously had reviled and 
cursed Columbus, gathered around, asking pardon for their conduct and prom- 
ising complete submission in future. 

Columbus supposed at last he had reached the opulent land of the Indies, 
and so called the natives Indians. But it was an island, not a continent or an 
Asiatic empire, he had found; an island "very large and level, clad with the 
freshest trees, with much water in it, a vast lake in the middle, and no 
mountains." 

The natives dwelling on the island were found to be a well-proportioned 
people with fine bodies, simple in their habits and customs, friendly, though shy 
in manner, and they were perfectly naked. They thought the huge ships to be 
monsters risen from the sea or gods come down from heaven. Presents were 
exchanged with them, including gold bracelets worn by the natives. Inquiry 
was made as to where the gold came from. For answer the natives pointed by 
gestures to the southwest. Columbus tried to induce some of the natives to go 
with him and show where the land of gold was to be found. But this they 
refused to do; so on the next day (Sunday, the 14th), taking along by force 
seven natives, that he might instruct them in Spanish and make interpreters of 
them, he set sail to discover, if possible, where gold was to be had in such 
abundance, and which, he thought, must be Cipango. 

* It is simply impossible to say which one of that long stretch of islands, some 3000 in 
number, extending from the coast of Florida to Haiti, as if forming a breakwater for the island of 
Cuba, Guanahani is. Opinion greatly varies. San Salvador, or Cat Island, was in early favor ; 
Humboldt and Irving — the latter having the problem worked out for him by Captain A. S. 
Mackenzie, U. S. N. — favored that view. The objections are that it is not "a small island" as 
Columbus called it, and it does not answer to the description of having "a vast lake in the 
middle" as Columbus says of Guanahani in his journal. Navette advocates the Grand Turk 
Island which has the lake. Watling's Islancf was first advocated by Munoz and accepted by 
Captain Beecher, R. N., in 1856, and Oscar Perchel in 1858. Major, of the British Museum, has 
taken up with Watling's Island, as did Lieutenant J. B. Murdoch, U. S. N., after a careful 
examination in 1884. This view is accepted by C. A. Schott of the U. S. Coast Survey. On the 
other hand. Captain G. V. Fox, U. S. N., in 1880, put forth an elaborate claim for Samana, based 
upon a very careful e.xamination of the route as given in Columbus's journal. This claim, with 
careful consideration of other conditions, has been very carefully examined by Mr. Charles H. 
Rockwell, an astronomer, of Tarrytown, N. Y. Mr. Rockwell assents to Captain Fox's view, 
which he finds confirmed by the course Columbus took in bringing his ship to land. He also 
traverses Captain Beecher's claim for Watling's Island, which he finds to be inconsistent with 
Columbus's narrative. As we have said, the problem is beset with difficulties, both as relates to 
the sailing course, and the extent and topography of the island ; and at the present time it appears 
to be well-nigh insoluble. Where the external conditions are met, the internal conditions, including 
the large lake, seem wanting; the difficulties in the case seem to be irresistible. 



36 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

He was, of course, in the midst of the Bahama group, and did not have to 
sail far to discover an island. On the 15th he discovered the island Conception. 
On the third day he repeated the forms of landing and took possession, as he 
did also on the 1 6th, when he discovered an island which he called Fernandina, 
known to be the island at present called Exuma. On the 19th another island 
was discovered, which Columbus named Isabella, and which he declared to be 
"the most beautiful of all the islands" he had seen. The breezes brought 
odors as spicy as those from Araby the Blest ; palm trees waved their fringed 
banners to the wind, and flocks of parrots obscured the sky. It was a land 
where every prospect pleased and Nature bestowed her largesse, from no 
stinted hand. 

But no — it was not a land of gold. Leaving Isabella after a five days' 
sojourn, on Friday, the 26th of October, he entered the mouth of a beautiful river 
on the northeast terminus of the island of Cuba, where sky and sea seem to 
conspire to produce endless halcyon days, for the air was a continual balm and 
the sea bathes the grasses, which grow to the water's edge, whose tendrils and 
roots are undisturbed by the sweep of the tides. Upon the delights that came to 
Columbus in this new-found paradise we cannot dwell ; admiration and rapture 
mingled with the sensations that swept over the soul of the great navigator 
as he contemplated the virgin charms of a new world won by his valor. 

But the survey of succeeding events must be rapid. From the 28th of 
October till November 12th Columbus explored the island, skirting the shore in 
a westerly direction. He discovered during that time tobacco, of which he 
thought little, but which, singularly enough, proved more productive to the 
Spanish Crown than the gold which he sought but did not find. 

On the 20th of November Columbus was deserted by Martin Pinzon, 
whose ship, the Pinta, could outsail all the others. Martin would find gold for 
himself This was a kind of treachery which too often marred the story of 
Spanish exploration in the New World. 

For two weeks after the Pinta's desertion Columbus skirted slowly along 
the coast of Cuba eastwardly till he doubled the cape. Had he only kept on 
what was now a westerly course he would have discovered Mexico. But it was 
not to be. Before sailing he lured on board six men, seven women, and three 
children, a proceeding which nothing can justify. Taking a southwesterly 
course, on Wednesday, December 5th, Columbus discovered Haiti and San 
Domingo, which he called Hispaniola, or Little Spain. The next day he 
discovered the island Tortuga, and at once returned to Haiti, exploring the 
island ; there, owing to disobedience of orders, on Christmas morning, between 
midnight and dawn, the Santa Maria was wrecked upon a sand-bank, near the 
present site of Port au Paix. A sorry Christmas for Columbus, indeed ! 

The situation was now critical. The Pinta, with her mutinous commander 



COLUMBUS RETURNS TO SPAIN. 37 

and crew, was gone ; the Santa Maria was a wreck. But one little vessel 
remained, the little, undecked Nina. Suppose she should be lost, too ? — how 
would Spain ever know of his grand discoveries ? Two things were necessary : 
he must at once set out on his return voyage, and some men must be left 
behind. The first thing he did was to build, on a bay now known as Caracola, 
a fort, using the timbers of the wrecked Santa Maria. In this he placed thirty- 
nine men. Nature would surely give them all the shelter and provisions they 
needed. 

COLUMBUS RETURNS TO SPAIN. 

It was not until Friday, January 4, 1493, that the weather was sufficiently 
favorable so that Columbus could hoist sail and stand out of the harbor of the 
Villa de Navidad, as he named the fort, because of his shipwreck, which 
occurred on the day of the Nativity. Two days later the ship Pinta was encoun- 
tered. Pinzon on the first opportunity boarded the Nina, and endeavored, 
but unsuccessfully, to explain his desertion and satisfy the admiral. The two 
vessels put into a harbor on the island of Cuba for repairs, and continued to 
sail along the coast, now and then making a harbor. On Wednesday, the i6th 
day of January, 1493, they bade farewell to the Queen of the Antilles, and then 
the prows of the Nina and the Pinta, the latter the slower sailer because of an 
unsound mast, were turned toward Spain, 1450 leagues away. 

It is not possible within the limits of this chapter to follow Columbus from 
day to day as he sails a sea now turbulent and tempestuous, as if to show its 
other side, in marked contrast to the soft airs and smooth waters that had 
greeted the voyagers when their purpose held — 

"To sail beyond the sunset and the baths 
Of all the western stars." 

Nor can we follow with minuteness Columbus in his subsequent career. He had 
made the greatest discovery of his or any other age : he had found the New 
World, and this, more than anything else, has to do with " The Story of America." 
It was on Friday, March 15, 1493, just seven months and twelve days after 
leaving Palos, that Columbus dropped anchor near the island of Saltes. It was 
not until the middle of April that he reached Barcelona, where the Spanish 
Court was sitting. As he journeyed to Court his procession was a most 
imposing one as it thronged the streets, his Indians leading the line, with birdf? 
of brilliant plumage, the skins of unknown animals, strange plants and orna- 
ments from the persons of the dusky natives shimmering in the air. When he 
reached the Alcazar or palace of the Moorish Kings, where Ferdinand and 
Isabella were seated on thrones, the sovereigns rose and received him standing. 
Then they commanded him to sit, and learned from him the story of his discovery. 
Then and there the sovereigns confirmed all the dignities previously bestowed. 



38 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

The rejoicing over, the good news spread everj'where, and Columbus was 
the hero of the civilized world. Ferdinand and Isabella at once addressed 
themselves to the task of preserving and extending their conquests, and a fleet 
of seventeen vessels and fifteen hundred men was organized to prosecute 
further discovery. It was on September 25, 1493, that Columbus set sail with 
his fleet. On the 3d of November he sighted land, a small, mountainous island, 
which Columbus called Dominica, after Sunday, the day of discovery. Then 
again they set sail, and in two weeks discovered several islands in the Caribbean 
waters. It was not till November 27th that Columbus arrived in the harbor of 
La Navidad. He fired a salute, but there was no response. On landing the 
next morning, he found the fortress gone to pieces and the tools scattered, with 
evidences of fire. Buried bodies were discovered — twelve corpses — those of 
white men. Of the forty who had been left there, not one was present to tell 
the tale. But all was soon revealed, and a harrowing, sorrowful tale it was. 
From a friendly chief Guacanagari — whom Columbus at first suspected of 
treachery, and was never quite satisfied of his innocence — it was learned that 
mutiny, perfidy, and lust had aroused resentments and produced quarrels, 
resulting in a division into two parties, who, separating and wandering off, were 
easily overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the incensed natives. 

Having discovered the Windward Islands, Jamaica, and Porto Rico, he 
founded a new colony in Hispaniola (Haiti or San Domingo), which he named 
Isabella, in honor of his queen. The place had a finer harbor than the ill-fated 
port of the Nativity. He named his brother Bartolommeo lieutenant governor, 
to govern when he should be absent on his explorations. On February 2, 
1494, Columbus sent back to Spain twelve caravels under the command of 
Antonio de Torres, retaining the other five for the use of the colony, with which 
he remained. The vessels carried specimens of gold and samples of the rarest 
and most notable plants. 

Besides these, the ships carried to Spain five hundred Indian prisoners, who, 
the admiral wrote, might be sold as slaves at Seville — an act which places an 
indelible stain upon the brilliant renown of the great admiral : that one inhuman 
act admits of no palliation whatever. 

Of the troubles that ensued it is impossible to give any account in detail. 
Men returning; disappointed at not finding themselves enriched, complained of 
Columbus as a deceiver, and he was charged with cruelty, and, indeed, there was 
scarcely a crime that presumably was not laid at his door. Then troubles broke 
out in the colony ; the friar, incensed at Columbus, excommunicated him, and the 
admiral, in return, cut off his rations. Then the men, in the absence of Columbus, 
off on trips of exploration, gave way to rapine and passion, and the poor natives 
had no other means than flight to save their waves and daughters. Matters 
proceeded from bad to worse, the colony growing weaker through dissension. 



COLUMBUS SETS FORTH ON A THIRD EXPEDITION. 



39 



Finally four vessels from Spain arrived at Isabella, in October, 1495, laden with 
welcome supplies. These were in charge of Torres, who was accompanied by 
a royal commissioner, Aquado, who was empowered to make full investigation 
of the charges brought against Columbus. It was evident to the admiral that 
he should take early occasion to return to Spain and make explanation to his 
sovereigns. Accordingly, in the spring of 1496, Columbus set sail for Cadiz, 
where he arrived on June 11, 1496. He was well received, and was successful 
in defending himself against the many charges and the clamor raised against 
him. Ships for a third voyage 



7SSJ: .Ss 



were promised him, but it was 
not until the late spring of 1498 
that the expedition was ready for 
sailing. 

COLUMBUS SETS FORTH ON A THIRD 
EXPEDITION. 

On May 30, 1498, with six 
ships, carrying two hundred men, 
besides sailors, Columbus set out 
on his third expedition. Taking 
a more southerly course, Colum- 
bus discovered the mouth of the 
Orinoco, which he imagined to 
be the great river Gihon, men- 
tioned in the Bible (Genesis ii, 13) 
as the second river of Paradise; 
so sadly were our admiral's geo- 
graphy and topography awry ! 
Columbus also discovered the 
coast of Para and the islands of 
Trinidad, Margarita, and Cabaqua, 
and then bore awayforHispaniola. 

It was the old story told over again, with sickening disappointment. He 
found the colony was more disorganized than ever. For more than two years 
Columbus did his best to remedy the fortunes of the colony. At last an 
insurrection broke out. It was necessary to act promptly and decisively. Seven 
ringleaders were hanged and five more were sentenced to death. At this time 
the whole colony was surprised by the arrival at Sl Domingo of Francisco de 
Bobadilla, sent out by Ferdinand and Isabella as governor, and bearing 
authority to receive from Columbus the surrender of all fortresses and public 
property. Calumny had done its work ! Bobadilla then released the five 




HAYTIAN INDIAN GIRL SPINNING. 



40 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



men under sentence of death, and finally, when Columbus and Bartholo- 
mew arrived at St. Domingo, Bobadilla caused them both to be put in 
chains, to be sent to Spain. Seldom has a more touching, more cruel, more 
pathetic picture been presented in the world's sad history of cruelty and 



wrong ! 



Shocked as the master of the ship was at the spectacle of Columbus in 
irons, he would have taken them off, but Columbus would not allow it ; those 
bracelets should never come off but at the command of his Sovereigns ! It was 
early in October, 1500, that the ships with the three prisoners, Columbus and 




l;i-i\ii.is in irons. 



his brothers, Bartholomew and Diego, left Isabella. On the 25th of November, 
after an unusually comfortable passage, the vessels entered the harbor of Cadiz. 
The sight of the venerable form of Columbus in chains as he passed through 
the streets of Cadiz, where he had been greeted with all the applause of a 
conqueror, was more than the public would suffer. Long and loud were the 
indignant protests that voiced the popular feeling. The news of the state of 
affairs coming to Isabella, a messenger was dispatched with all haste to Cadiz, 
commanding bis instant release. When the poor broken-hearted admiral came 
into the queen's presence Isabella could not keep the tears back — while he. 



HIS LAST VOYAGE. 41 

affected at the sight, threw himself at the feet of his sovereigns, his emotion 
bursting out in uncontrollable tears and sobs — and this was Columbus's 
reward for discovering a new world ! 

HIS LAST VOYAGE. 

The rest is soon told. The acts of the miserable creature, Bobadilla, were 
instantly disapproved, and he was recalled, but was drowned on his way home. 
Columbus, however, was not allowed to return to Hispaniola, but after two 
years' waiting sailed from Cadiz, May 9, 1502, with four vessels and a hundred 
and fifty men, to search for a passage through the sea now known as the Gulf 
of Mexico. It was the middle of June when Columbus touched at San 
Domingo, where he was not permitted to land. He set sail, and was dragged 
by the currents near Cuba. Here he reached the little island of Guanaja, 
opposite Honduras, and voyaged along the Mosquito coast, having discovered 
the mainland, of which he took possession. After suffering from famine and 
many other forms of hardship, he went to Jamaica and passed a terrible year 
upon that wild coast. In June, 1504, provision was made for returning to 
Spain, and on November 7th of that year, after a stormy voyage and narrow 
escape from shipwreck, Columbus landed at San Lucar de Barrameda, and 
made his way to Seville. He found himself without his best friend and pro- 
tector, for Isabella was then on her death-bed. Nineteen days later she 
breathed her last. Ferdinand would do nothing for him. A year and a half of 
poverty and disappointment followed, and then his kindliest friend, Death, came 
to his relief and his sorrows were at an end. Columbus died on Ascension 
Day, May 20, 1506, at Valladolid, in the act of repeating. Pater, in maims tuas 
dcpoiw spiritiim maim, — " Lord, into Thy hands I commit my spirit." Death 
did not end his voyages. His remains, first deposited in the Monastery of 
St. Francis, were transferred, in 15 13, to the Carthusian Monastery, of Las 
Cuevas. In 1536 his body, with that of his son, Diego, was removed to Hispa- 
niola and placed in the cathedral of San Domingo, where ir is believed, and 
pretty nearly certain, they were recently discovered. There seems no sufficient 
evidence that they were ever taken to Havana. 

Thus passed away the greatest of all discoverers, a man noble in purpose, ' 
daring in action, not without serious faults, but one inspired by deep religious 
feeling, and whose character must be leniently measured by the spirit of the age 
in which he lived. He received from his country not even the reward of the 
flattering courtier, for he was deprived of the honors his due, and for which the 
royal word had gone forth ; and in the end, when the weight of years was upon 
him and there was nothing more he could discover, he was allowed by Ferdinand 
to die in poverty, "with no place to repair to except an inn." But if Ferdinand 
was not a royal giver Columbus was more than one. For the world will never 



42 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

forget the inscription that, for very shame, was placed upon a marble tomb over 
his remains — he was now seven years dead — and which reads : — 

" A Castilla y a Leon 
Nuevo mundo dio Colon." 
To Castile and Leon Columbus gave a new world. 

As to the character of Columbus, there is wanting space here for consider- 
ing the subject at any length ; nor does it at all seem necessary. Time has 
given the great navigator a character for courage, daring, and endurance, which 
no modern historian can take from him — least of all can the statement, that the 
falsification of the record of his voyage was reprehensible, stand. It was no 
more reprehensible than the act of Washington in deceiving the enemy at 
Princeton ; and in Columbus's case his foes were the scriptural ones "of his own 
household." Living in an age when buccaneering was honorable and piracy 
reputable, it will not do to gauge Columbus by the standard of our day. It is 
sufficient to say that he was great, in the fact that he put in practice what others 
had only dreamed of Aristotle was sure of the spheroidicity of the earth, and 
was certain that " strange lands " lay to the west : Columbus sailed and found ; 
— he went, he saw, he conquered. And these pages cannot better be brought 
to a close than by quoting what one of the most thoughtful of recent poets, 
Arthur Hugh Clough, has expressed in his lines, prompted no doubt by his visit 
to this country' : — 

" What if wise men had, as far back as PxoLEjri', 

Judged that the earth like an orange was round. 

None of them ever said, ' Come along, follow me, 

Sail to the West and the East will be found ' 

Many a day before 

Ever they'd come ashore. 

From the 'San Salvador,' 

Sadder and wiser men, 

They'd have turned back again; 

And that he did not, but did cross the sea, 

Is a pure wonder, I must say, to me. ' ' 

^I. IT. B. 



CHAPTER II. 



SETTLING THE NEW COUNTRY. 




THE MARIGNY HOUSE, NFW oKLF.ANS, WHERE LuUB PHILIPPE 
bluPPED IN I79S. 



A FEW years cover the be- 
ginnings of westward migration 
from Europe and the British 
Isles. Great impulses seem to 
be epidemic. The variety of 
causes which led to the planting 
of the American colonies be- 
came operative under diverse 
national and race conditions, so 
that they appear in history as 
the synchronous details of a 
common plan. As the reader 
follows these pages and appro- 
priates all the wonderful and 
inspiring details of this une- 
qualed record of four centuries, 
his interest will deepen and his amazement will keep pace with his interest. 
Finding a barren shore, broken only by the roar of the surf, the cries of birds 
and animals, and the whoop of the Indian, he will lay down the volume, having 
discovered that civilization has followed the sun until the two oceans have met — 
connected by an unbroken tide of humanity ebbing and flowing from the Atlantic 
to the Pacific ; and westward the Star of Empire still takes its way ! 

A minute account of the social and political situations in the various king- 
doms of Europe during the sixteenth century is not within the scope of this 
work, but it will be well to make a very brief statement of the questions that 
agitated Christendom at this time, and to notice the temper of the times. 

Cupidity and a love of adventure led the Spaniard to the conquest of the 
New World. Spain was then paramount in Europe, most powerful as well as 
most Catholic ; and the controlling motive of her sovereigns was conquest. 
It was not reformation nor revolution that sent her people over seas, but 

43 



44 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

the love of power and wealth. In France, on the contrary, the spirit of 
revolt against established dogmas had led to persecution, so that the Hugue- 
nots were glad to find an asylum in the wilderness of the New World. 
Under these conditions the first colonies were attempted in the middle of 
the sixteenth century. Thirty years later a second planting, more general and 
more effectual, was begun. 

At that time Protestant England had a Catholic king. Henry of Navarre 
was upon the throne of France, which he had gained by his apostacy. Holland, 
the mighty little republic, was, under the wise leadership of John of Barne- 
veld and the States General, keeping Catholic Europe in check. Spain 
had been for years planning the conquest of England "as a stepping- 
stone to the recovery of the Netherlands." It will be seen that the very 
causes which led emigrants to colonize the new continent forbade friendship 
or common interests between those of different races, the animosities of the 
Old World being very carefully transplanted to the new along with other 
possessions. 

France made the first attempt at colonization in 1555. One of the leaders 
in the enterprise was Coligny, the Huguenot admiral ; John Ribault and 
Laudoniere were masters of successive expeditions, seeking first the Florida 
coast and afterward establishing a settlement in Carolina. The French have 
seldom made good colonists, and those of Carolina were no exception to the 
general rule. It is probable that their quarrelsome dispositions would have 
destroyed them in time had not the Spanish claimants of the country, led by 
Menendez, hastened the event. This expedition of the Spaniards was not 
only noteworthy because of the cruel massacre of Ribault and his Huguenot 
followers, but also as the occasion of the founding of the most ancient of 
North American cities, St. Augustine. This occurred in 1564. 

The settlement of St. Augustine was followed by a hiatus in which nothing 
was done toward the colonization of America. This was due to the great 
religious war which was then raging in Europe. But in the interval the mis- 
sionary expeditions of the Spanish Franciscans, Ruyz and Espejio, in 1582, 
resulted in the building of Santa Fe in New Mexico. There had also been the 
establishment by adventurers of various fishing and trading stations, notably 
the one on the island of New Foundland. 

During the interval England had been steadily growing as a marine power, 
and her navigators had directed men's eyes anew towards the land where so 
many of their countrymen should find refuge. Finally Raleigh, following in 
the footsteps of his famous half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, obtained a 
patent from Queen Elizabeth, by the terms of which he should become pro- 
prietor of six hundred miles radially from any point which he might discover 
or take, provided he did not encroach upon territory otherwise granted by any 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



45 



Christian sovereign. As an auxiliary to this grant the queen gave her favorite 
a monopoly of the sale of sweet wines, by the profits of which business he was 
soon enabled to fit out what was known as the Lane expedition, that sailed 
under the command of Grenville in 1585, and landed at Roanoke, in Virginia. 



THE ROANOKE COLONY. 

Grenville's first act upon landing was to rouse the animosity of the Indians 
by burning one of their villages and some cornfields, after which he left Lane, 
the Governor, with only an hundred and ten men and returned to England. 
Scarcity of provisions, a constant quarrel with their Indian neighbors, and a 

general feeling of discouragement 
led these first Virginia colonists to 
hail the navigator, Drake, who ap- 
peared on the coast a few months 
after, as a deliverer, and rejecting 
his offers of a vessel and provi- 
sions, they insisted upon returning 
with him to the mother country. 
Their departure was almost imme- 
diately followed by the arrival of 
reinforcements and supplies from 
Raleigh, brought by Grenville, who, 
when he found the place deserted, 
left fifteen men to guard it and 
himself proceeded southward to 
pillage the Spaniards of the West 
Indies. 

A second expedition, dis- 
patched by Raleigh, included many 
women, that families might be 
formed on the new soil and the colonists be satisfied to remain. This enter- 
prise was led by John White and eleven others, having a company charter. 
Upon arrival in Virginia White found only a skeleton to show where the 
former settlement had been. Indian treachery was assigned as the reason for 
its disappearance. Actuated probably by a nervous anxiety. White massacred 
some friendly Indians, under the impression that they were hostiles, and in 
August of 1587 returned to England for supplies, leaving behind him eighty- 
nine men, seventeen women, and eleven children, the youngest being his 
own granddaughter, Virginia Dare, the first white child born in America. 

White arrived in England to find the nation preparing for a struggle with 
Spain. His return to the colonies was therefore delayed. Raleigh, finding 




i- " - '" ,, /-" '"' pi'.- 

INDIAN VILLAGE ENCLOSED WITH PALISADES. 

{From the original drawing' in the British Museuvi, made hy John 
White in 1583.) 



46 THE FRENCH ATTEMPT COLONIZATION. 

himself impoverished by the former expeditions, which had cost him $200,000, 
made an assignment, under his patent, to a company which included White and 
one Thomas Smith. A new fleet was procured, though with considerable 
trouble, and again the adventurers sought the Virginia coast, in 1590, only to 
find that the unfortunate settlement of three years before had been utterly wiped 
out of existence. So ended the first English attempt to settle America. 

THE FRENCH ATTEMPT COLONIZATION. 

About the same time de La Roche, a Marquis of Brittany, obtained from 
Henry IV of France a commission to take Canada. His company consisted 
largely of convicts and criminals. Following him came Chauvin de Chatte, but 
he accomplished little of permanent value. 

For some years following the last attempt of Raleigh to colonize Virginia, 
a desultory trade with the Indians of the coast was pursued, the staples being 
sassafras, tobacco, and furs. Richard Hakluyt, one of the assignees of Raleigh, 
was most active in promoting this traffic ; and among others employed was 
Bartholomew Gosnold, who, taking a more northerly course than the one 
usually followed, discovered Cape Cod, Nantucket, and Martha's Vineyard, 
and the Elizabeth Islands. Following Gosnold, in 1603, came Martin Pring, 
exploring Penobscot Bay, tracing the coast thence as far south as Martha's 
Vineyard. 

A French grant of the same year gave to Sieur de Monts, a Protestant, the 
whole of North America between the 40th and 46th parallels of north latitude. 
This domain was named Acadie. De Monts looked for a monopoly of the fur 
trade on what is now the New England and Canadian coast. His Lieutenants in 
the expeditions which he soon commenced, were Poutrincourt and Champlain, 
of whom the latter became famous for several discoveries, but in particular for 
the lake which bears his name. 

So it will be noticed that both the French and English were stretching out 
their hands to acquire the same territory. De Monts and Champlain settled 
their colony at St. Croix, but soon shifted, trying various points along the coast, 
and even attempted to inhabit Cape Cod, but were driven away by the savages. 
At last they transferred the settlement to Port Royal (Annapolis), where it 
endured for about a year. De Monts' commission or patent was recalled in 
1606, and but a little while previously Raleigh's grant was forfeited by 
attainder, he having been imprisoned by King James on a charge of 
treason. 

The frequent failures to effect a permanent settlement in America did not 
discourage adventurers, whose desire to possess the new world seemed to grow 
stronger every year. Soon two new companies were incorporated under Royal 
charter, to be • known as the First and Second Colonies of Virginia. The 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 47 

former was composed of London men, and the latter of Plymouth people 
principally. 

The charter authorized the Companies to recruit and ship colonists, to 
engage in mining operations and the like, and to trade ; their exports to be 
free of duties for seven years and duties to be levied by themselves for their 
own use for a period of twenty years. They might also coin money and pro- 
tect themselves against invasion. Their lands were held of the King. 

HARD TIMES COME AGAIN. 

Hardly had the charter been granted when James began to make regu- 
lations or instructions for the government of the colonies, which gave a shadow 
of self-rule, established the church of England, and decreed, among other 
things, that the fruits of their industries were to be held in common stock by 
the colonists for five years. 

These instructions, along with the names of the " Council " appointed by 
James for the government of the settlement, were carried, sealed in a tin box, 
by Captain Christopher Newport, who commanded the three vessals which 
constituted the initial venture of the London Company. An ill-chosen band 
landed at last at Old Point Comfort, after a stormy voyage. Of the one 
hundred and five men there were forty-three "gentlemen," twelve laborers, 
half a dozen mechanics and a number of soldiers. These quarreled during the 
voyage, so that John Smith, who it afterward appeared was one of the Coun- 
cillors appointed by the Crown, entered Chesapeake Bay a prisoner, charged 
with conspiracy. As might have been expected, this company did not fare 
well. They were consumed with laziness and jealousy ; there were cabals in 
the council and bickerings outside of it. Repeatedly the men tried to desert ; 
deaths were frequent and want stared them in the face. During this time it is 
hardly too much to say that the energy and wisdom of John Smith held the 
discouraCTed adventurers together. New arrivals of the same sort as the first 
added to, rather than diminished, the difficulties of the situation, so that at 
length Smith wrote that thirty workmen would be worth more than a thousand 
of such people as were being sent out. Not till the third lot of emigrants 
arrived did any women visit the new settlement, and then only two. The 
Indians became more and more troublesome, and the London Company, dis- 
satisfied at receiving no returns from their investment, threatened to leave the 
settlers to shift for themselves. 

In 1609 the London Company succeeded in obtaining a new charter, by the 
terms of which it organized as a stock company, with officers chosen for life, 
a governor appointed by the Company's Council in England, and a territory 
extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific in a strip four hundred miles in width. 

During the interval between the granting of thecharterand the organization 



48 



POCAHONTAS. 



of the new government anarchy reigned in Virginia. Smith did everything 

possible to restore order, but was at last wounded by an accidental explosion 

of powder and forced to return to England. At this time Jamestown, which was 

the name of the settlement, contained 

five hundred men, sixty dwellings, a fort, ■'^ ■ " " "^ ?/ ' 

store and church. The people possessed ' / \ 

a little live stock and about thirt)' acres 

of cultivated land, but as this was all 




AN INDI.\N COUNCIL OF WAR 



inadequate to their support 

there followed what is known 

in the annals of the colony 

as the " Starving time." 

These earlier days in Virginia, while historically valuable only as a warning, 

have afforded an unusual share of romance, much of which centres about the 

unromantic name of Smith. The historian gladly concedes to this remarkable 

man his full share of credit for the survival of one of the most ill assorted 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 49 

parties that ever attempted to settle a new land. But, added to what is known 
of Smith's adventures, struggles and escapes, is a great deal that rests solely 
upon his own authority, and much of this is probably apocryphal. One hesitates, 
for instance, to e.xamine the Pocahontas legend too closely. There is no doubt 
of the existence of that aboriginal princess, of her marriage to the Englishman, 
Rolfe, of her enthusiastic reception by English society, or of the fact that some 
of her proud descendants live to-day in Virginia. But the pretty story of her 
devotion in saving the life of John. Smith by protecting him with her own person 
when the club of the executioner was raised by chief Powhatan's order may be 
questioned. The account was not given in Smith's first narratives, and was 
subsequently written by him several years after the death of the lady in 
question. The multitude of hairbreadth escapes and marvelous adventures of 
which Smith made himself the centre, have laid him open to the suspicion of 
drawing- a longer bow than Powhatan himself. 

I 

JOHN SMITH. 

Clearing away the romance, and allowing all that is necessary to one who is 
so often the hero of his own narrative, it may not be uninteresting to briefly note 
some of the unquestioned services that John Smith performed for the struggling 
colony. We have seen how he arrived under suspicion and arrest, landing on 
the site of the little settlement which was destined to owe so much to him, like 
a felon. The opening of the hitherto secret instructions given under the broad 
seal of England, disclosed the fact that he was one of the Councillors named in 
^hat document. But it was his own clear head and strong courage rather than 
any royal appointment which won him the leadership in the affairs of the settle- 
ment. The quarrels and incompetency of the two governors, Wingfield and 
Ratcliffe, acted as a foil to display his superior quality. Although believing to 
the full in the common creed of his time, that the inducements of wealth were 
the only ones which would lead men to sacrifice home and comfort for the 
wilderness, yet he evinced a genius for hard work and a contempt for hard 
knocks worthy of a nobler purpose. 

It was in his first extended exploration of the Chickahominy that the Poca- 
hontas affair is supposed to have occurred. That he was taken prisoner then, 
and by some means escaped from his captors, is undeniable. And in passing, 
we may observe the curious misapprehension regarding the width of the Amer- 
ican continent which Smith's journey up the Chickahominy betrayed. He was 
actually looking for the Pacific ocean ! In keeping with this error is that clause 
in the American charters which would make the land grants like long, narrow 
ribbons reaching from ocean to ocean. 

In 1608 Smith ascended Chesapeake Bay and explored the larger rivers 
emptying into it. In an open boat, he traveled over two thousand miles on fresh 

4 



50 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

water. He parleyed with the Mohawks, and returned to subdue the much more 
unmanageable colonists at Jamestown. When the half-starved and wholly 
discouraged adventurers became mutinous, his methods of dealing with them 
were dictatorial and effectual. 

As already stated, Smith, upon his departure from Virginia, left nearly five 
hundred people there. In six months there remained only sixty. Many had 
died, some thirty or more seized a small vessel and sailed South on a piratical 
expedition, and a number wandered into the Indian country and never came 
back. Sick and disheartened, the remainder resolved to abandon Virginia and 
seek Newfoundland. Indeed, they had actually made all preparations and were 
starting upon their voyage, when they were met by the new governor from 
England, Lord De La War, with ships, recruits and provisions. 

The charter under which De La War assumed the government of Virginia 
was sufficiently liberal. It was that granted to Raleigh. But in the years that 
followed, the colony began to be prosperous and to excite the jealousy of the 
king — the same base, faithless king that had beheaded Raleigh. James began 
to conspire against the Virginia charter. It was too liberal : he dreaded the 
power it conferred. By 1620 colonists were pouring into Jamestown at the rate 
of a thousand a year, and thence being distributed through the country. 

To try to condense the early colonial history of Virginia to the limits of our 
space would result in a bare recital of names, or a repetition of the narrative of 
ignorance, vice, and want, occasionally relieved by some deed of devotion or 
daring. At first, in spite of the liberal provisions of the charter, the conditions 
were, to a large extent, those of vassalage. In 1623 James ordered the Com- 
pany's directors to surrender their charter, a demand which they naturally 
refused. He then brought suit against the Company, seized their papers so 
that they should have no defence, and finally, through foul means obtained a 
decision dissolving the Company. After that the government of the colony 
consisted in a governor and two councils, one of which sat in Virginia and the 
other in London. The governor and councils were by royal appointment. 

bacon's rebellion. 
Here we must be allowed to digress a little, to give the part played by one 
Nathaniel Bacon in the affairs of Virginia. It was the year 1676, when Bacon 
became the leader of a popular movement instituted by the people of Kent 
Count}\ whose purpose was twofold — first, to protect themselves against the 
Indians, which the Government failed to do ; and, secondly, to resist the unjust 
taxes and the oppressive laws enacted by the existing legislative assembly, and 
also to recover their liberties lost under the arbitrary proceedings of Sir William 
Berkeley, then Governor. Bacon, a popular, quiet man, who had come over 
from England a year before, was selected as their leader by the people, who. 



GOVERNOR BERKELEY REMOVED. 



51 



enrolling themselves 300 strong, were led by Bacon against the Indians. Bacon's 
success increased the jealousy of Sir William, who, because of Bacon's irregular 
leadership, — he having no proper commission, — proclaimed Bacon a rebel. 
Finally, the people rose en masse, and demanded the dissolution of the old 
assembly, whose acts had caused so much trouble. Berkeley was forced to yield, 
and a new assembly was elected, who, 
condonine Bacon's irreeular leader- 
ship, promised him a regular com- 
mission as General. This commission 
Berkeley refused to issue, whereupon 
Bacon, assembling his forces, at the 
head of 500 men, appeared before 




BURNING OF lAMESTCVVN. 



Berkeley and demanded his commission, 
which Berkeley, who was a real coward, 
made haste to grant. But, as if repenting 
of his concession, Berkeley determined to 
oppose Bacon by force. In this he was 
unsuccessful, and in July of that year, 
Bacon entered Jamestown, the Capital, and 
burned the town. A little later, in October, Bacon died, and with him the 
" rebellion," or " popular uprising " as it had been variously called, subsided. 
Shortly afterward Berkeley was removed, for oppression and cruelty^ — a cruel, 
bloodthirsty man he was — and, sailing for England, died soon after his arrival, 
and the world's population of scoundrels was lessened by just one. 

While the curious mixture of cavalier and criminal was working out the 



52 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

early destinies of Virginia, a deeply religious element in Nottinghamshire and 
Yorkshire, England, were being educated by adversity for an adventure of a 
very different sort. At Scrooby, in 1606, a congregation of Separatists or 
Bronnists, who were ultra Puritans, used to meet secretly for worship at the 
house of their elder, William Brewster. King James, like most renegades, was a 
good persecutor, and he finally drove the Scrooby church to flee. Led by their^ 
pastor, that wisest and gentlest of the Puritans, John Robinson, the little com- 
pany escaped to Holland. The history of their ten years of sorrow and hard- 
ship in Amsterdam and Leyden is too well known to require repetition here. 
It is impossible to overestimate the influence of such a man as Robinson, or to 
question the permanency of the impression which his character and teaching 
made upon his flock. 

Procuring a patent from the London company, the Scrooby-Leyden Sepa- 
ratists prepared for their adventure.. Only about half the Holland company 
could get ready, and it fell to the pastor's lot to stay with those who were left 
behind. Embarking on the Speedwell, at Delft Haven, the colonists bade 
good-by to their friends and directed their course to England, where they 
were joined by the Mayflower. 

ARRIVAL OF THE MAYFLOWER. 

The Speedwell was found to be unseaworthy, so at length most of her 
passengers were transferred to the Mayflower, which proceeded on the voyage. 
To those who know how small a vessel of 180 tons is, the fact that one hundred 
souls, besides the crew, were upon a stormy ocean in her for more than sixty 
days, will be as eloquent as any description of their discomforts could be. The 
objective point was far to the southward of the land that they finally fell upon, 
which was not within the limits of their patent from the Virginia Company. But 
they dropped anchor in Cape Cod harbor, sick and weary with the voyage, and 
landed, giving thanks for their dehverance. With wisdom and frugality the 
plans for the home in the wilderness were made. 

Being too far North to be bound or protected by the provisions of the 
Virginia charter, the Pilgrims, as they called themselves, made a compact which 
was mutually protective. The terms of the contract foreshadowed republican 
institutions. Thus in character, purpose and outward surroundings the Puritan 
of Plymouth and the Cavalier of Jamestown differed essentially. The after 
development of the two settlements followed logically along these lines, empha- 
sizing these differences. 

Of the hundred souls left in Plymouth only fifty per cent, remained alive 
when the supplies from England came, a year later. Scurvy, famine and 
exposure to the severe climate had killed most of the weakest of them. Not a 
household but had suffered loss. Yet not one offered to go back. Men and 



THE PILGRIMS OF THE "MAYFLOIVER." 



53 



women alike stood to their posts with a heroism that has never been excelled in 
the world's history. We read how they planted their corn in the graveyard 
when planting time came, so that the Indians might not discover the greatness 
of their loss. Cotton Mather, in writing of this dark time says, with that 
provoking, cold-blooded philosophy that can bear other people's troubles with 
equanimity: "If disease had not more easily fetched so many away to heaven," 
all must have died for lack 
of provisions. The Indians 
were at first very hostile, 
owing to depredations com- 
mitted by a previous navi- 
gator, but they were too few 
in number to be very trouble- 
some. Squanto, who became 
the interpreter, and Samoset, 
a sagamore from the east- 
ern coast, were their first 
friends among the red men. 
Squanto was their tutor 
in husbandry and fishing. 
Then, too, came Hobba- 
mock, whom Longfellow has 
immortalized as the "friend 
of the white man." The 
names of those who formed 
this little colony have be- 
come household words all 
over the land. Miles Stan- 
dish, John Alden, Priscilla, 
Elder Brewster, Bradford, — 
where are these names not 
known ? 

Frugal as the Pilgrims 
were, and industrious, they 

found that their inexperience in planting maize, together with other drawbacks, 
kept them on the edge of starvation for several years. Clams became at one 
time the staple diet, and were about all that the settlers had to regale thier 
friends with, when a new ship-load of those that had been left behind in Leyden, 
arrived. 

A description of Plymouth, given in 1626, shows the situation of the town : 
A broad street, "about a cannon shot of eight hundred yards long," bordered 




ARMOR WORN KY THE PILGRIMS IN 162O. 



54 



THE STORY OF AMERICA 



by the houses of hewn planks, followed by a brook down the hillside. A second 
road crossed the first, and at the intersection stood the Governor's house. Upon 





the mound known as ' burial hill " was a 
building which served the double purpose of 
a fort and a church. A stockade surrounded 
the whole. At first the agricultural and other 
labors of the people had been communistic, in 
accordance with the conditions of the London 
Company's charter. But in 1624 this plan was 
done away with and the lands thereafter held separately. Still the people 
unlike those of Virginia, continued to dwell in towns, and their habits in this 
respect descended to their children. 



MILES STANDISH HOLDS A COUNCIL WITH 
THE INDHNS. 



BOUNDARY DISPUTES AND INDIAN WARS. 



55 



The second New England colony was that of Massachusetts Bay, which 
was sent out by a company provided with a charter ver)' much like that of Vir- 
ginia. The provisions of this patent allowed for the appointment of officers by 
the company, but it was not stated where the headquarters of the company were 
to be. This important oversight allowed the transplanting of the company, with 
officers, elective power, and other democratic rights, to New England. The 
company, which pretended to be a commercial organization, was really composed 
of Puritans, who, though not Separatists, were strict to the point of fanaticism. 
The leader of the first emigrants was John Endicott. His followers numbered 
less than a hundred souls, 
with which little force he 
planted Salem. The Salem 
colonists, though they had 
known less persecution and 
hardship than those of Ply- 
mouth, or perhaps for that 
reason, yet were more intol- 
erant and Quixotic in their 
rules for self government, 
in social observances, and 
especially in their dealings 
with people of other reli- 
gious sects. The transfer- 
ence of the government of 
the company, together with 
the addition of over eight 
hundred new colonists, was 
made in 1630. 

As the Massachusetts 
colonies grew they excited 
the jealousy or animosity of 
two very different classes of 
people. These were their 

Dutch neighbors and the Indians. The most serious of the early difficulties 
with the aborigines was, in fact, the effect of Dutch interference. These 
people had purchased the Connecticut river lands from the Pequots. The 
Pequots only held the territory by usurpation and the original owners obtained 
the Puritan protection, giving them a rival title. The enraged Pequots com- 
menced hostilities which were promptly resented by the Puritan Governor, 
Endicott, who led his men into the Indian country, punishing the assailants 
severely. This act, however necessary it may have been, laid the colony open 




A PIONEER FLEEING FROM ENRAGED PEQUOTS. 



56 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



to all the cruelty of a long-continued war, which lasted until the final rem- 
nant of the Pequot tribe had been extinguished. 




A PEQUOT MASSACRE. 



The war with Philip, Massasoit's 
son, occurred in 1675, when the col- 
ony was stronger and better able to 
bear the tax upon its vigor, but during the year in which it lasted the settle- 



HENDRICK HUDSON. 57 

merits were frightfully crippled. Six hundred houses had been burned, the 
fighting force of the English had been decimated, and the fruits of years of 
labor wasted. The whole difficulty arose from the Puritans' " lust for inflicting 
justice," and might have been avoided. 

One of the most significant, as well as beneficial, of early New England 
institutions was the "town meeting," which ranked next to " the meeting house 
worship " in importance to the colonist ; for while in one he indulged liberty of 
conscience, the other allowed him liberty of speech. Having both his speech 
and his conscience under control, the Puritan took a sober delight in their 
indulgence. The town meeting was in the New Englander's blood, and it needed 
only the peculiar conditions of his new life to bring it out. His ancestors had had 
their Folkmotes where all questions of public policy and government were freely 
discussed. So it came natural to him to sfather in unsmiling; earnestness with his 
neighbors, and attend to their plans or suggest others for their mutual guidance 
and safety. This ventilation of grievances and expression of views did more, in 
all probability, to prepare for the part which New England should take in future 
political movements than any other one agency. 

HENDRICK HUDSON. 

The discovery of the Hudson River, and that of Lake Champlain occurred 
at nearly the same time, each discoverer immortalizing himself by the exploit. 
That of Hudson has, however, been of vastly more importance to America and 
the world than that of his French contemporary. 

Hudson was known as a great Arctic explorer prior to his discovery of 
the site of America's metropolis. He had previously sailed under English 
patronage, but now he and his little " Half-Moon " were in the service of the 
Dutch East India Company, and in search of a northwest passage, which he 
essayed to find by way of Albany, but failed. At the same time Smith was 
searching the waters of the Chesapeake. In 1614, the charter granting all of 
America between Virginia and Canada was received by the " Company of the 
New Netherlands " from the lately formed States General of Holland. The 
command of so magnificent a river system as that of the Hudson and its 
tributaries established almost at once the status and success of the Dutch 
colony. 

The States General held complete control of their American dependency. 
They appointed governors and councillors and provided them with laws. 
Ordinarily, the people seemed to care as little to mix with politics as does the 
modern average New Yorker, a good deal of bad government being considered 
better than a little trouble. 

Once in a while a governor got in some difficulty over the Indian question, 
and called a council of citizens to help him, but ordinarily he was despotic 



58 . THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

The colonists were content to wax fat without kicking. They were honest, 
shrewd, crood-natured, tolerant bodies, as different from the New Englander 
as from the Virginian, or as either of these neighbors was from the other. 
Primarily traders, they found themselves in one of the best trading grounds in 
the world, with nothing serious to prevent them from growing rich and 
multiplying. This they proceeded to do with less noise and more success than 
either of the other contemporary settlements. In the fifty years of Dutch rule, 
the population of New Amsterdam reached eight thousand souls. The 
character of the city was so cosmopolitan that it has been estimated that no 
less than twelve languages were spoken there. Free trade obtained, in 
contrast to the policy of New England and Virginia. The boundary' difficulties 
with the Puritan colonies were a constant irritation, but were allowed to 
slumber when it was necessary to make common cause against the Indians. 

THE DUTCH LOSE NEW AMSTERDAM. 

In the time of Petrus Stuyvesant, the last of the Dutch governors, the 
rivalry which existed between the English and Dutch nations regarding the 
trade of the new world led the treacherous Charles II of England to send an 
armament in a time of profound peace to take the colony of a friendly nation. 

Colonel Richard Nichols commanded the expedition. His orders caused 
him to stop at the Massachusetts Bay for reinforcements. The colonists there 
were reluctant to aid him, but those of Connecticut joined eagerly with the 
expedition, and Governor Winthrop took part in it. The colony passed, 
without a blow, with hardly a murmur on the part of the people, though 
considerably to the rage of Governor Stuyvesant, into the hands of the English, 
to be known thenceforth as New York. Notwithstanding the success of the 
Dutch colony of New Amsterdam, it was unquestionably a most important 
advantage in the after history of America that it should have fallen into the 
hands of the English. 

As a conservative element, the peaceful, prosperous Friend was of immense 
value in colonial development. The grant which William Penn obtained in 1681 
gave him a tract of forty thousand square miles between the estates of York 
and Baltimore. Penn's charter was in imitation of that granted to Marjdand, 
with important differences. With the approval of Lord Baltimore, laws passed 
by the Maryland Assembly were valid, but the king reserved the right to approve 
the laws of Pennsylvania. The same principle was applied to the right of 
taxation. There was about fifty years between the two charters. 

The settlement of New Jersey by Quakers was that which first drew Penn's 
attention to America. In drawing up the plans for his projected State he did so 
in accordance with Quaker ideas, which in point of humanity were far in advance 
of the times. The declaration that governments exist for the sake of the 



6o THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

governed, that the purpose of punishment is reformation, that justice to Indians 
as well as to white men should be considered, were starding in their novelty. 

The success of this enterprise was instant and remarkable. In three years 
the colony numbered eight thousand people. The applications for land poured 
in and the affairs of the colonists were wisely administered, and before the 
death of her great founder, Pennsylvania was firmly established. Education 
was a matter of care from the very start in Philadelphia, although throughout 
the rest of the state it was neglected for many years. Indian troubles were 
scarcely known. The great blot on the scutcheon of the Quaker colony was 
the use of white slaves, for whom Philadelphia became the chief market in the 
new world. Not less remarkable than the unity of time which characterized the 
planting of several American settlements was the unity of race into which 
they all finally merged, with few and slight exceptions, so that in after years 
all of the various lines of development which have been indicated in this 
chapter should combine to form a more complete national life. Penn made a 
treaty with the Indians, and kept it ; and herein lies the secret of his success. 
If only all treaties had been kept, what bloodshed might not have been 
avoided ! 



CHAPTER III 



MA-KINQ THE NE^Ar PEOPLE. 




A NEW ENGLAND WEAVER WINDING THE SPOOLS. 



AFTER the colonists had forced the issue 
with fortune and had got more in touch 
with their new surroundings, they began 
to discover the fallacy of most of their 
first notions and to adjust themselves 
to the new problems as best they could. 
The day when the settlement of a new 
world could be regarded as an experi- 
ment with possible fabulous results was 
over. They had come to stay, and they 
understood that staying meant winning 
and winninof meant working. 
The early notion that great fortunes were waiting to be picked up In the New 
Land, and that gold and silver and precious stones were almost to be had for the 
asking, had given place to a settled convictien that intelligent labor only would 
enable the settler to retain his foothold. Aid from the mother countries could not 
be depended upon, precarious as it was, nor was it to be desired. There were 
object lessons in frugality and industry taat the colonist had set before him 
every day ; lessons that he finally learned by heart. 

As has been very wisely said, the problem which confronted the new 
people was one of changed conditions. Whereas in England harvests were 
reckoned at their cost per acre, in America they were counted at their cost per 
man, because in the old country labor was plentiful and land scarce, and in the 
new it was just the reverse. So he who cultivated the soil after old country 
methods must, of necessity, find want oppressing him and starvation lurking 
with the wolves and bears in his forests. Successful farming must be " skim 
ming " the plentiful new land. To cut and burn wood-land, cultivate grain 
between the stumps, and abandon old holdings for new, was the necessity of 
the hour. 

Elsewhere we will speak of the influence of a staple upon the social and 

6i I 



62 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

political life of Virginia. The first staple was tobacco. The growth of rice in 
the south did not begin till some years after the establishment of tobacco ; and 
cotton culture was never really begun, except in a small way for domestic 
demands, till after independence was achieved, when the invention of Whitney's 
cotton gin had made it possible to minimize the immense labor of hand-cleaning. 

The cultivation of rice, which had previously been grown in Madagascar, 
began in South Carolina in 1696, when a planter named Thomas Smith got 
from the captain of a brigantine a bag of rice for seed. Smith had been in 
Madagascar, and the appearance of some black wet soil in his garden suggested 
to him the soil of the rice plantations on that island. The experiment was a 
complete and instant success. Smith's rice grew luxuriantly and multiplied 
so that he was able to provide his neighbors with seed. This at first they 
attempted to grow upon the higher ground, but shortly found that the swamps 
were better adapted for the staple. 

In three years from the time of the first distribution of seed Thomas Smith 
had been made Governor of the colony. The people of South Carolina who 
had borrowed a staple for years and who had not made the advance in pros- 
yerity that other colonists had, at last were blessed with a product all their own, 
one which was perfectly adapted to the soil. They learned to husk the rice, 
at first by hand but afterwards by horse power and tide mills. Then rice culture 
began to spread to Georgia, to Virginia, even as far North as New Jersey, but 
nowhere did it succeed as well as in the Carolinas. Even to-day the people of 
that section have cause to bless the forethought of Smith and the head winds 
that blew the brigantine with her rice cargo into a harbor on that coast. 

Carolina also tried indigo growing, which became profitable about the 
middle of the iSth century. Miss E.'iza Lucan, afterwards Mrs. Pinckney, 
mother of General Pinckney, deserves th^ credit of its introduction. 

The Northern farmer, from the first, (-ultivated only a few acres compared 
with the large Southern plantations. His efforts were confined to the produc- 
tion of wheat and corn. Indian corn was grown from the very earliest New 
England days ; the Indians had taught the white men their own method of 
manuring the corn hills by putting in each a codfish. Rye, little used as a food 
grain, was cultivated by certain Scotch and Irish settlers as a basis for whiskey. 
New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey were the great bread producers. In 
the year 1770, or thereabouts, the value of flour and bread exports reached 
$3,000,000. This was the result of a century and a half of patient, intelligent 
labor. 

All along the northern coast the importance of the fisheries was felt, from 
the early French settlements on Newfoundland, that antedated any successful 
planting of colonists on the main land of North America, till the development of 
the great fisheries of New England. The astonishment of those who described 



THE STAPLES. 



the country at an early period was occasioned by the teeming life, the marvelous 
fertility, of all creatures, either in the ocean or on the land. The immense 
schools of cod gave to the inhabitants of the coast employment which soon 
rose to the dignity of an industr)^ From Salem, Cape Cod and many other 
points, fleets of small vessels went and returned, till a generation of sailors who 
should accomplish more important voyages and adventures was bred on the 
fishing banks. 

One of the most curious chapters in the history of husbandry in the New 
World is that of the attempt to force a staple. Some one conceived the idea 



,fsM^ 




FAIRFAX COURT HOUSE — A TYPICAL VIRGINIA COURT HOUSE. 

that the heavy duties that made the silk of France and Southern Europe so ' 
expensive might be avoided by raising the silk-worm and manufacturing the 
fabric in the British colonies. About 1623 the silk-worm was brought to 
Virginia, and a law was enacted making the planting of mulberry trees, the food 
of the silk-worm, compulsory. The House of Burgesses passed resolutions of 
the most exacting character. It also offered premiums for the production of 
silk, and in other ways endeavored to foster the new industry. It was required 
that every citizen should plant one mulberry tree to every ten acres of ground. 
Among the rewards offered was one of ten thousand pounds of tobacco for 



64 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



fifty pounds of silk. This was in 1658. That seemed to be a generous year 
with the Burgesses, for they also offered the same amount of tobacco for the 
production of a certain small quantity of wine from grapes grown in the colony. 
The silk laws were withdrawn in Virginia in 1666. 

Georgia, too, had a silk craze, and Pennsylvania and Delaware also went 
heavily into the production. Charles II wore a complete court dress of Amer- 
ican silk, which, it is said, must have cost its weight in gold to produce. The 
efforts to revive the silk industry were several times attempted, but without 
success. Except that we occasionally hear that some member of the British 




AN OLD TIME COLONIAL HOUSE. 
{BuUt in ib34, Bedford, Mass.) 



royal family was clad in American silk, we might almost doubt the existence of 
the industry. 

Vine planting and wine making were among the "encouraged " industries. 
All of these Utopian schemes for the acquisition of sudden wealth failed because 
they were not based upon any true appreciation of natural conditions in the 
New World. 

Fruits and vegetables were grown very early In the seventeenth century. 
In the latter part of the century' a fresh impetus was given to horticulture by 
John Bartram, the Quaker, at Philadelphia. 



FEUDALISM IN AMERICA. 65 

Horses and cattle, especially in the South, were allowed to run wild in the 
woods till the forests were full of them, and hunting this large game became a 
favorite amusement. Horses were so numerous in some places as to be a 
nuisance. New England adopted an old English custom, and the people herded 
their live stock in common, appointing general feeding places and overseers for 
it. The laws of England were such as to discourage sheep raising in the New 
World, and the wolves seconded the laws, but the farmers persisted, neverthe- 
less, though they were not so successful in this as in some other pursuits. 

As soon as the immediate necessity for the guns and stockades of the town 
were removed, those of the more favored colonists of Virginia who had obtained 
land grants began to separate, forming manorial estates and engaging in the 
production of staples, principal among which was tobacco. The tenants were 
practically serfs at first, and the introduction of slave labor made the proprietor 
even more independent, if possible, than he had been before, giving him 
authority almost absolute within his own domains, even to the power over 
human life. 

It has been truly said that " that which broke down representation by 
boroughs and made the parish a vast region with very little corporate unity, was 
the lighting upon a staple." Tobacco and rice were the responsible agents for 
Virginia's social and political conditions, which resulted in the production of 
strong, self-reliant, and brave, though impetuous and uncontrollable men. 

From the first, none of the great colonies bore so close a resemblance to 
England in the development of a feudal system as Virginia. The ownership of 
what would be to us vast tracts of land, was due to the way in which Virginia 
was settled. Men of no especial note held estates of ten, twenty, or thirty thou- 
sand acres. This was the result of the very rapid increase in the cultivation of 
the great staple. For a great many years the white servants were much more 
numerous than the blacks, and with indentured servitude, which was equal to 
slavery in all points but that of perpetuity ; then arose the great class distinctions, 
which were almost unknown in the New England colonies, although originally 
the rural Virginia land-owner and the New England settler were of the same 
class. The effect of environment on social development can nowhere be traced 
more distinctly than in the first two great English colonies in America. 

Town life, as remarked elsewhere, was not known in Virginia. Up to the 
time of the war for independence her largest towns numbered only a very few 
thousand souls — not more than many a Northern village. There were very few 
roads and very many water-ways, so that the trading vessels could reach the 
individual plantation much more easily than the plantations could reach each 
other. The English custom of entail was early transplanted to Virginia, with 
some adaptations to suit the new conditions. The abolition of this system was 
due to Thomas Jefferson, as late as 1776. 
5 



66 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



The Virginia substitute for the New England town meeting, committees, 
etc., was the vestry and parish system, modeled in part after the English parish. 
The vestrymen in each parish, however, were twelve representatives chosen 
by the people of the parish. This at least was the case at first, till by obtaining 
power to fill vacancies they became practically self-elective. The vestrymen 
were apportioners and collectors of taxes, overseers of the poor, and governors 
of the affairs of the church. Their presiding officer was the minister. 

Mr. John Fiske, in his admirable text-book, "Civil Government in the 
United States," makes this observation: "In New England, the township was 
the unit of representation, but in Virginia the parish was not the unit of repre- 
sentation ; the county was that unit. In the colonial legislature of Virginia the 
representatives sat not for parishes but for counties." The county was arbitrarily 




OLD SPANISH HOUSE ON BOURBON STREET, NEW ORLEANS. 



defined as to physical limits, nor were any particular number of parishes required 
to constitute it. There might be one parish or a dozen. The machinery of 
county government consisted principally of a court which met once a month in 
some central place, where a court-house was erected. There it tried minor 
criminal offences and major civil actions. The court also was one of probate, 
and had the supervision of highways, appointing the necessary servants and 
officials. Like the parishes, the county courts, in course of time, became 
self-elective. 

The taxes, like many other obligations, were paid in tobacco, of which the 
sheriff was the collector and custodian. He also presided at elections for 
representatives to the colonial assembly. 

There were eight justices of the peace in each county. These were 



WHITE SLAVERY. 



67 



nominated by the court (/. e., by their own body), and appointed by the 
Governor. The election, or rather appointment of the sheriff was conducted in 
the same way practically, so that we see how little voice the people really had 
in either parochial or county government. 

On July 30, 1619, Virginia's first General Assembly convened; as the 
English historian said, "A House of Burgesses broke out in Virginia." These 
Burgesses were at first the representatives of plantations, of which each chose 
two. The duty of the Assembly was to counsel the Governor ; or, more nearly 
in accordance with the facts, to keep him in check and make his life miserable. 
In 1634 the Burgesses first sat for counties, upon the new political formation. 

So it will be seen that the earliest form of representative government 
in the Colonies began in Virginia; and 
that it was not government by the voice 
of the people, is apparent. The poor 
whites, or "white trash," as they were 
called at a later day, had little or no 
voice. The riehts and liberties that 
were contended for were those of the 
rich and powerful. As in England, 
civil liberty began with the barons and 
did not extend to those in the humbler 
walks of life, so in Virginia, it was the 
planter, the proprietor of acres, the 
owner of slaves, who first guarded his 
own rights against despotism. 

In New England, on the contrary, 
such a thing as caste was hardly known. 
Town life induced a development very 
different from that of plantation life. 
Perhaps the individual was less aggres- 
sively independent. Perhaps the long course of bickering and obstruction on 
the part of Virginia's Burgesses against her governors, was as good a school 
as possible for future essays — the direction of national liberty ; but it is certain 
that New England cquld show a high level of intelligence all along the line. 
She had no "poor whites." While the distinctly influential class was not so 
prominently developed, each man had influence. He counted one, always. 

The practice of sending criminals and the offscouring of England to 
the Colonies under articles of bondage became established. Men were sold, 
some voluntarily, and others by force, for a term of years. The broken-down 
gentlemen, soldiers, and adventurers who composed the bulk of the inhabitants, 
found this system of white slavery to their temporary advantage, and the 




AN OLD VIRGINIA MANSION. 



68 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

exodus of those creatures from London was doubtless a relief to the authorities 
there. 

Sandys, the Treasurer of the Virginia Company, sent, in 1619, thirty young 
women, whose moral characters were vouched for, who were bought as wives 
iby the colonists upon their arrival ; the price of passage being the value set 
upon each damsel. 

As the years went by, the evil of this system of bondage became more 
and more apparent, and spread to other parts of the country. Philadelphia, the 




THE JAMES RIVER AND COUNTRY NEAR RICHMOND. 



Quaker refuge, was a white slave mart. Such terms as "Voluntary sales," 
"Redemptioners," "Soul Drivers," "Kids," "Free Willers," "Trepanning," 
etc., were familiar throughout the new land. 

Kidnapping in England, for the Colonies, was so common that it became 
the cause of violent agitation. Even yOuth of rank were not exempt from 
the danger and degradation. Those who carried on the business of trepan- 
ning were known as " Spirits." Criminals under sentence of death, might 
have the sentence commuted to seven years' servitude. Artisans and laborers 



COTTON MATHER AND THE WITCHES. 69 

who were unemployed could be "retained" by force, under certain conditions. 
Of course, these bond-servants were a source of moral and social trouble and 
danger to the colonists. 

The usual impression regarding the Puritans is that they were austere, 
unsmilinpf men, with much hard fanaticism and little of the milk of human 
kindness. That they did suffer much and cause others to suffer for conscience 
sake is undoubtedly true, but no special pleading should be required to convince 
those who read the early history of New England carefully, that the highest of 
Christian virtues flourished quite as much in the Boston of the seventeenth 
century as in the Boston of the eighteenth or nineteenth. 

The good John Winthrop, first Governor of Massachusetts, who was firm 
and even severe in his administration of the government, so that he frequently 
felt the results of unpopularity, was, as one writer calls him, "most amiable" in 
his private character. A neighbor, accused of stealing from Winthrop' s wood- 
pile, was brought before him. The Governor had announced that he would 
take such measures that the thief should never be able to rob him again, so, of 
course, the case attracted attention. " You have taken my wood," said Winthrop, 
in effect ; " You have my permission to keep on doing so. Help yourself as 
long as the winter lasts." 

We can imagine the scene when his servant, who used to be sent with 
messages to the poorer neighbors about dinner time, returned from one of his 
visits. The Governor's interest quickened as he listened to the details of the 
meals at which the servant had acted as a spy. Mr. So-and-so was without 
meat, this one lacked bread, and that other ate his bread dry. The good man 
expressed his sympathy in the best possible way, by sharing his larder. 

The man who had been one of Winthrop's angry opponents owned himself 
vanquished when he received from the object of his animosity a cow, in his 
time of need. In a quaint fashion he expressed himself: "Sir, by overcoming 
yourself you have overcome me." 

The best early history of the colony of Massachusetts is that written by 
Governor Winthrop. Next to that work in value is Cotton Mather's Magnalia 
Cliristi Americana, which is a history of the colony in all its interests and 
affairs, from the year 1620 to 1689. 

COTTON MATHER AND THE WITCHES. 

Cotton Mather's name is perhaps most widely known as the great instigator 
of persecution in the time of the witchcraft terror. A man of great and varied 
learning, he was singularly devoid of common sense, and allowed himself to 
be swayed by opinions that bear a close resemblance to those of insanity. 
Unfortunately, through his great influence, and perhaps by virtue of that quality 
which we have learned to call "personal magnetism," he succeeded in inoculat- 



70 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



ing a majority of the most influential people of Massachusetts with his singular 
craze. There had been executions for witchcraft in New England before Doctor 
Mather's time, but in the revival of persecution he was most prominent. 

Especially severe have som.e New York writers of later years been, in com- 
menting upon this reign of 
terror in New England, yet 
New York's history has 




had a darker chapter of 
cruelty. Twenty hangings 
for witchcraft occurred in 
Salem; nearly double that number of persons were burned at the stake in New 
York City, upon the ground until recently known as the " Five Points." Both 
of these occurrences were in the same generation, but the one was the result of 
delusion, while the other resulted from abject terror, caused by one Mary 



A PROTEST AGAINST PERSECUTION. "ji 

Burton, a criminal cliaracter, who pretended to have information of a negro 
insurrection, and then for a few pounds swore away forty hves. Virginia, too, 
had her witch trials, though not carried to the lengths that those of Salem were, 
and even tolerant Maryland has her record of witch hanging. And surely none 
can fail to honor Samuel Sewell, of Massachusetts, whose public expression of 
sorrow for the part he had taken in the witch executions was one of the first 
signs of recovery from the popular delusion. 

In like manner the persecutions of the Friends were due to the same sombre, 
sadly mistaken views of religious duty. Undoubtedly the New England Quakers 
were guilty of some actions which must have greatly annoyed the Puritans. The 
gentlest, kindliest, and, in some respects, the most enlightened people in the 
New World showed sometimes a most exasperating obstinacy in doing things 
which should shock the strict ideas of propriety which the Pilgrims possessed. 
For instance, in New London Pastor Mather Byles was greatly annoyed 
by having Quaker men sit with their hats on and women with their spinning 
wheels in the aisles, industriously working during service on the Lord's 
day. As soon as the Quakers were settled, when no one opposed them the 
aggressive side of their character, as shown in symbolic acts of an exaggerated 
kind, does not seem to have manifested itself at all. 

A PROTEST AGAINST PERSECUTION. 

In the middle of the century the beginning of the protest against Quaker 
persecution began to be felt. Nicholas Upsall, pastor of the Boston Church, 
first opposed it. He was promptly fined twenty pounds and banished. He was 
refused a home in Plymouth and returned to Cape Cod, where he succeeded in 
inoculating a number of other people with his views. Robinson, son of the 
Leyden pastor, was sent by the General Court of Massachusetts to visit the 
Quakers and expostulate with them. He decided that there was no harm in 
them and made an able defence of them, for which he was disfranchised. The 
prejudice, once started, took years to eradicate. Perhaps a few lines from 
Cotton Mather on this subject may not be out of place. He says : — 

"It was also thot that the very Quakers themselves would say that, if they had got into a 
corner of the world and with immense toyl and change made a wilderness habitable in order there 
to be undisturbed in the exercise of their worship, they would never hear to have New Englanders 
come among them and interrupt their public worship, endeavor to seduce their children from it, yea, 
and repeat such endeavors after mild entreaties first and then just banishment." 

It is probable that in an age when we are more fond of finding causes for 
things than of suffering for conscience sake we will blame neither party in this 
obsolete quarrel. It was incompatibility of temper. 

Another of the matters about which the public is apt to be severe upon the 



72 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

Puritans is the code known as " Blue Laws," concerning which a great deal has 
been said by people who value themselves upon their "liberal " views. 

Rules relating to Sabbath observances are quoted. We are told indig- 
nantly that the Puritan could not kiss his wife or children on the Sabbath, nor 
walk in his garden, nor do any one of a number of things that are innocent and 
proper. 

There is just one answer to these strictures. The Blue laws were wholly 
unknown to the Puritans. They were invented by that Tory wag, Dr. Samuel 
Peters, whose humorous " History of Connecticut" was as seriously taken by 
some folks as was Washington Irving's " Knickerbocker " a generation later. It 
is not probable that Dr. Peters ever supposed that they would be taken seriously. 
Of Puritans, Quakers, and other religionists of the olden time we are apt to 
think as though they were separate varieties of the human race, not to be under- 
stood by the light of any common experience of human nature, while in fact 
they were very human — and (perhaps in consequence) very much lied about. 

THE HUDSON RIVER ESTATES. 

Washington Irving has humorously dwelt upon facts in his relation of the 
differences which occurred between the Dutch Government in New Amsterdam 
and the Patroons whose little principalities were further up the Hudson River. 
The grants to the patroons were such as to insure to them almost absolute con- 
trol upon their estates, with only the shadow of allegiance. The fact that the 
great patroons allowed a semblance of subserviency to the metropolitan 
governor was rather a question of their advantage than of their necessity. 

The holdings were immense. The Livingstone estate was sixteen by 
twenty-eight miles in extent ; the Van Courtlandts owned eight hundred square 
miles ; the Rensselaer manor contained five hundred and seventy-five square 
miles. Sir Vredryk Flypse, the richest man in the colony, possessed the fairest 
portion of the river from Spuyten Duyvel Creek to the Croton River. From 
the mill on his manor he shipped grain and other commodities direct to Holland 
and to the West Indies, and received rum and other exchanges from those 
countries, without either clearing or entering at the port of New Amsterdam 
(or New York as it afterwards was called). Flypse, Van Courtlandt, and 
Bayard were keen politicians as well as successful traders. To them is credited 
the hanging of Governor Zeisler, and they were hotly charged with receiving 
from Kidd, whose privateering commission they had procured, a share of his 
piratical booty. 

Upon the great estates, the exactions of the lords proprietors drove many 
tenants out of the colony. Some of the patroons even went to the length of 
asserting their right to eject tenants and reassume the land at will. This course 
of procedure retarded the growth and development of the Hudson River 



SCHOOLS IN THE NORTH AND SOUTH 



73 



Settlements for many years 
tion of feudal authority in 
New York were very much 
like the monopolies of land 
and power in the South. 
But in one thing New Am- 
sterdam differed very much 
from Virginia ; that was in 
the possession of a thriving, 
busy city that should coun- 



In some respects the great estates and assump- 




terbalance the spirit 
of feudalism by its 
democratic disposi- 
tion. 
y How can we 

close this chapter 
better than by refer- 
ence to the beofinninofs of what 
we hold most precious of all 
the legacies which the fore- 
fathers of the American people 
left to their descendants ? 

In Virginia Governor 
Berkeley, in 1671 thanked God 
that there were no free schools, 
nor were likely to be for a 
hundred years. But less than 
twenty years afterward, a different feeling began to prevail. William's and Mary's 
College was founded by James Blair in 1692. But already a university was in 



rHE ATTACK c iN KMIKRS AT STKlNiU lELD, MASS., IN I786. 



74 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

existence in the North, and the first common-school system, probably, that the 
world had ever known, had been established half a century in Massachusetts. 
Salem's free-school dates back to 1640, and the state adopted a general plan 
for common schools seven years later ; a plan, the purpose of which was set 
forth in language so remarkable, that it should be preserved through all time — 
a few sentences we can give: "That learning may not be buried in the grave 
of our faith in the church and commonwealth, the Lord assisting our 
endeavors, — It is therefore ordered, that every township in this jurisdiction after 
the Lord hath increased them to the number of fifty householders shall then 
forthwith appoint one within their town to write and to read, . . . and it is 
further ordered that where any town shall increase to the number of one 

hundred families they shall set up a grammar-school to instruct youth 

so far that they may be fitted for the university." 

Maryland was nearly a century in following this lead. Rhode Island, 
beginning where Massachusetts did, fell from grace in educational matters 
till 1800. Philadelphia had good schools at a very early date, and New 
Amsterdam, or New York, moved very slowly, doubtless feeling confident 
that, whatever their attitude toward letters, her children would instinctively 
learn the use of figures. But we cannot pursue this matter widiout trenching 
upon another chapter. It is difficult to conceive that from the various forma- 
tive elements in the lives of the early colonists, a single one could have been 
well spared in the making of the new people. 

But Virginia was not the only State troubled with insurrection. Massachu- 
setts had a like experience. It was in 1786 that the movement broke out, 
Daniel Shay, a Revolutionary captain, havifig been rather forced to the head as 
leader, so that it became known as Shay's Rebellion. The pretext of the 
rebellion was the high salar)' paid the Governor, the aristocratic character of the 
Senate, the extortions of lawyers, and the oppressive taxation. In December, 
1786, he led a considerable force of rioters to Worcester, where he prevented 
the holding of the U. S. Court, and with 2000 men traveled to Springfield, 
Mass., January, 1787, to capture the arsenal [see engraving], but was repulsed 
by the militia under General Shepard. Finally, defeated, he fled the State, but 
he was pardoned the following year by Governor Bowdoin. Ultimately he 
received a pension for Revolutionary services. He died September 29th, 1825, 
at Sparta, N. Y., whither he had removed. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE WA.R KOR INDEPENDENCE. 



A WITTY foreigner, watching the course of the American 
Revolution, wrote to Benjamin Franklin that Great Britain 
was undertaking the task "of catching two millions of people 
in a boundless desert with fifty thousand men." This was a 
crude and inaccurate way of putting it, but it expresses suc- 
cinctly the magnitude and difficulty of the campaign that lay 
before the British generals. When Parliament rather reluc- 
tandy authorized the raising of twenty-five thousand men for 
the war, Great Britain was still forced to obtain most 
of this number by subsidizing German mercenaries 
J^ from the small principalities, who were indiscrimi- 
nately called Hessians by the colonists, and the em- 
ployment of whom did much to still further provoke 
bitterness of feeling. At one time in the Revolution 
Great Britain had over three hundred thousand men 
in arms, the world over, but of this number not more 
than one-tenth could be sent to America. But the 
greatest obstacle to British success lay in the fact 
that the English leaders, military and civil, constantl7 
underrated the courage, endurance, and earnestness 
of their opponents. That raw militia could stand 
their ground against regulars was a hard lesson for 
the British to learn ; that men from civil life could 
show such aptitude for strategy, as did Washington, 
Schuyler, and Greene, was a revelation to the profes- 
sional military men, the significance of which they 
grasped only when it was too late. 

Above all, the one thing that made the colonists 
the victors was the indomitable energy, self-renuncia- 
tion, and strategic ability of George Washington. 
We are so accustomed to think of Washington's moral qualities, that it is only 

;s 




THE MONUMENT ON BUNKER HILL, 



76 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



when we come close to the history of the war that we fully recognize how great 
was his military genius — a genius which justly entitles him to rank with the few 

truly great soldiers of his- 
tory, such as Alexander, 
Caesar, Napoleon, and Von 
Moltke. Almost alone 
among the American gen- 
erals of the Revolution, he 
was always willing to subor- 
dinate his own personal 
glory to the final success 
of his deep laid and com- 
prehensive plans. Again 
and again he risked his 
standing with Congress, 
and ran the danger of 
being superseded by one 
or another jealous general 
of lower rank, rather than 
yield in a particle his de- 
liberate scheme of cam- 
paign. Others received 
the popular honors for bril- 
liant sino^le movements 
while he waited and plan- 
ned for the final result. 
What the main lines of his 
strategy were we shall en- 
deavor to make clear in 
the following sketch : — 

When the news of the 
running fight from Con- 
cord to Lexington spread 
through the country, the 
militia hurried from every 
direction toward Boston. 
Israel Putnam literally left 
his plough in the field ; 
John Stark, with his sturdy 
New Hampshire volunteers, reached the spot in three days ; Nathaniel Greene 
headed fifteen hundred men from Rhode Island ; Benedict Arnold led a band 




THE STORY OF AMERICA. 77 

of patriots from Connecticut ; the more distant colonies showed equal eager- 
ness to aid in the defense of American liberties. Congress displayed deep 
wisdom in appointing George Washington Commander in Chief, not only 
because of his personal ability and the trust all men had in him, but because 
it was politically an astute measure to choose the leader from some other 
State than Massachusetts. But before Washington could reach the Con- 
tinental forces, as they soon began to be called, the battle of Bunker Hill 
had been fought. And before that, even, Ethan Allen, with his Green Moun- 
tain Boys, had seized Fort Ticonderoga " in the name of Jehovah and the Con- 
tinental Congress " — which Congress, by the way, showed momentarily some 
reluctance to sanction this first step of aggressive warfare. The occupation by 
Allen and Arnold of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, at the southern end of 
Lake Champlain, was of great military importance, both because of the large 
quantities of ammunition stored there, and because these places defended the 
line of the Hudson River valley against an attack from Canada. 

The battle of Bunker Hill, looked at from the strictly military point of 
view, was a blunder on both sides, astonishing as was its moral effect. The 
hill, properly named Breed's Hill, but to which the name of Bunker Hill is 
now forever attached, rises directly back of Charlestown, on a peninsula con- 
nected with the main land by a narrow isthmus. The American forces seized 
this on the night of June i6th, 1775, and worked the night through intrenching 
themselves as well as they could. With the morning came the British attack. 
The position might easily have been reduced by seizing the isthmus, and for this 
reason the Americans had hardly shown military sagacity in their occupation of 
the hill. But the British chose rather to storm the works from the front. 
Three times the flower of the English army in battle line swept up the hill ; 
twice they were swept back with terrible loss, repulsed by a fire which was 
reserved until they were close at hand ; the third time they seized the position, 
but only when the Americans had exhausted their ammunition, and even then 
only after a severe hand to hand fight. The British loss was over a thousand 
men ; the American loss about four hundred and fifty. When Washington 
heard of the battle he instantly asked if the New England militia had stood 
the fire of the British regulars, and when the whole story was told him he 
exclaimed, "The liberties of the country are safe." The spirit shown then and 
thereafter by our sturdy patriots is well illustrated by the story (chosen as the 
subject of one of our pictures) of the minister, who when in one battle there 
was a lack of wadding for the guns, brought out an armful of hymn books and 
exclaimed " Give them Watts, boys ! " 

The next clash of arms came from Canada. General Montgomery led two 
thousand of the militia against Montreal, by way of Lake Champlain, and easily 
captured it (November 12, 1775). Thence he descended the St. Lawrence to 



78 



THE SIEGE OF BOSTON. 



Quebec, where he joined forces with Benedict Arnold, who had brought twelve 
hundred men through the Maine wilderness, and the two Generals attacked 
the British stronghold of Quebec. The attempt was a failure ; Arnold was 
wounded, Montgomery was killed, and 
though the Americans fought gallantly 
they were driven back from Canada by 




superior forces. Meanwhile 
the siege of Boston was syste- 
matically carried on by Wash« 
ington, and in the spring of 
1776 the American General gained a 
commanding position by seizing Dor^ 
chaster Heights (which bore much the 
same relation to Boston on the South that Breed's Hill did on the North) and 
General Howe found himself forced to evacuate the city. He sailed with his 
whole force for Halifa.x, taking with him great numbers of American sym- 
pathizers with British rule, together with their property. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 79 

The new Congress met at Philadelphia in May. During the first month of 
its sessions it became evident that there had been an immense advance in pub- 
lic opinion as to the real issue to be maintained. Several of the colonies had 
expressed a positive conviction that National independence must be demanded. 
Virginia had formally instructed her delegates to take that ground, and it was 
on the motion of Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, seconded by John Adams, of 
Massachusetts, that Congress proceeded to consider the resolution "That these 
united colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent States ; that 
they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political 
connection between them and the State of Great Britain is and ought to be 
totally dissolved." This bold utterance was adopted on July 2d by all the colo- 
nies except New York. The opposition came mainly from Pennsylvania and 
New York, and was based, not on lack of patriotism, but on a feeling that the 
time for such an assertion had not yet come, that a stronger central government 
should first be established, and that attempts should be made to secure a for- 
eign alliance. It should be noticed that the strongest opponents of the measure, 
John Dickinson and Robert Morris, of Pennsylvania, were among the most 
patriotic supporters of the Union. To Robert Morris in particular, whose skill 
as a financier steered the young Nation through many a difficulty, the country 
owes a special debt of gratitude. The Declaration of Independence, formally 
adopted two days later, was written mainly by the pen of Thomas Jefferson. 
It is unique among State papers — a dignified though impassioned, a calm 
though eloquent, recital of injuries inflicted, demand for redress, and avowal of 
liberties to be maintained with the sword. Its adoption was hailed, the country 
through, as the birth of a new Nation. Never before has a country about to 
appeal to war to decide its fate put upon record so clear-toned and deliberate 
an assertion of its purposes and its reasons, and thus summoned the world and 
posterity to witness the justice and righteousness of its cause. 

Thus far in the war the engagements between the opposing forces had 
been of a detached kind — not related, that is, to any broad plan of attack or 
defense. Of the same nature also was the British expedition against South 
Carolina, led by Sir Henrj' Clinton and Lord Cornwallis. Their fleet attacked 
Charleston, but the fort was so bravely defended by Colonel Moultrie, from his 
palmetto-log fortifications on Sullivan's Island, that the fleet was forced to aban- 
don the attempt and to return to New York. But the British now saw that it 
was imperative to enter upon a distinct and extensive plan of campaign. That 
adopted was sagacious and logical ; its failure was due, not to any inherent 
defect in itself, but to lack of persistency in adhering to it. Washington under- 
stood it thoroughly from the first, and bent all his energies to tempting the 
enemy to diverge from the main object in view. The plan, in brief, was this : 
New York City was to be seized and held as a base of supplies and centre of 



8o THE BRITISH PLAN FEASIBLE. 

operations ; from it a stretch of country to the west was to be occupied and 
held, thus cutting off communication between New York and the New England 
States on the one side and Pennsylvania and the Southern States on the other. 
Meanwhile a force was to be pushed down from Canada to the head of the 
Hudson River, to be met by another force pushed northward up the Hudson. 
In this way New England would be practically surrounded, and it was thought 
that its colonies could be reduced one by one, while simultaneously or later an 
army could march southward upon Philadelphia. The plan was quite feasible, 
but probably at no time did the British have sufficient force to carry it out in 
detail. They wofully over-estimated, also, the assistance they might receive 
from the Tories in New York State. And they still more wofully under-esti- 
mated Washington's ability as a strategist in blocking their schemes. 

General Howe, who was now Commander-in-Chief of the British army, 
drew his forces to a head upon Staten Island, combining there the troops which 
had sailed from Boston to Halifax, with Clinton's forces which had failed at 
Charleston, and the Hessians newly arrived. In all he had over thirty thousand 
soldiers. Washington, who had transferred his headquarters from Boston to 
the vicinity of New York after the former city had been evacuated by the 
British, occupied the Brooklyn Heights with about twenty thousand poorly 
equipped and undrilled colonial troops. To hold that position against the 
larger forces of regulars seemed a hopeless task ; but every point was to be 
contested. In point of fact, only five thousand of the Americans were engaged 
in the battle of Long Island (August 27, 1776) against twenty thousand men 
brought by General Howe frpm Staten Island. The Americans were driven 
back after a hotly contested fight. Before Howe could follow up his victory 
Washington planned and executed one of those extraordinary, rapid movements 
which so often amazed his enemy ; in a single night he withdrew his entire army 
across the East River into New York in boats, moving so secretly and swiftly 
that the British first found out what had happened when they saw the deserted 
camps before them on the following morning. Drawing back through the city 
Washington made his next stand at Harlem Heights, occupying Fort Washing- 
ton on the east and Fort Lee on the west side of the Hudson, thus guarding 
the line of the river while prepared to move southward toward Philadelphia if 
occasion should require. In the battle of White Plains the Americans suffered 
a repulse, but much more dispiriting to Washington was the disarrangement 
of his plans caused by the interference of Congress. That over-prudent body 
sent special orders to General Greene, at Fort Washington, to hold it at all 
odds, while Washington had directed Greene to be ready on the first attack to 
fall back upon the main army in New Jersey. The result was the capture of 
Fort Washington, with a loss of three thousand prisoners. To add to the 
misfortune, General Charles Lee, who commanded a wing of the American 



RECKONED WITHOUT HIS HOST. 8i 

army on the east side of the river, absolutely ignored Washington's orders to 
join him. Lee was a soldier of fortune, vain, ambitious, and volatile, and there 
is little doubt that his disobedience was due to his hope that Washington was 
irretrievably ruined and that he might succeed to the command. Gathering his 
scattered troops together as well as he could, Washington retreated through 
New Jersey, meeting ever^^where with reports that the colonists were in despair, 
that many had given in their allegiance to the British, that Congress had fled to 
Baltimore, and that the war was looked on as almost over. In this crisis it was 
an actual piece of rare good fortune that Charles Lee should be captured by 
soldiers while spending the night at a tavern away from his camp, for the result 
was that Lee's forces were free to join Washington's command, and at once 
did so. Altogether some six thousand men were left In the army, and 
were drawn into something like coherence on the other side of the Delaware 
River. General Howe announced that he had now nothing to do but wait the 
freezing of the Delaware, and then to cross over and "catch Washington and 
end the war." 

But he reckoned without his host. Choosing, as the best time for his bold 
and sudden movement, Christmas night, when revelry in the camp of the 
enemy might be hoped to make them careless, Washington crossed the river. 
Leading in person the division of twenty-five hundred men, which alone suc- 
ceeded in making the passage over the river, impeded as it was with great 
blocks of ice, he marched straight upon the Hessian outposts at Trenton and 
captured them with ease. Still his position was a most precarious one. Corn- 
wallis was at Princeton with the main British army, and marching directly upon 
the Americans, penned them up, as he thought, between Trenton and the 
Delaware. It is related that Corn wallis remarked, "At last we have run down 
the old fox, and we will bag him in the morning." But before morning came 
Washington had executed another surprising and decisive mancEuvre. Main- 
taining a great show of activity at his intrenchments, and keeping camp-fires 
brightly burning, he noiselessly led the main body of his army round the flank 
of the British force and marched straight northward upon Princeton, capturing 
as he went the British rear guard on its way to Trenton, seizing the British 
post of supplies at New Brunswick, and in the end securing a strong position 
on the hills in Northern New Jersey, with Morristown as his headquarters. 
There he could at last rest for a time, strengthen his army, and take advantage 
of the prestige which his recent operations had brought him. 

Let us turn our attention now to the situation further north. General 
Burgoyne had advanced southward from Canada through Lake Champlain and 
had easily captured Ticonderoga. His object was, of course, to advance in the 
same line to the south until he reached the Hudson River ; but this was a very 
different matter from what he had supposed it. General Schuyler was in com- 



8a 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



mand of the Americans, and showed the highest mihtary skill in opposing Bur- 
goyne's progress, cutting off his sup- 
plies and harassing him generally. An 
expedition to assist Burgoyne had been 
sent down the St. Lawrence to Lake 
Ontario, thence to march eastward to ' 
the head of the Hudson, gathering aid 
as it went from the Indians and Tories. % 





SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE. 



This expedi- 
tion was an 
utter failure ; 
a t Oriskany 
the Tories and 



British were defeated in a fiercely fought battle, in which a greater proportion 



SURRENDER OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 83 

of those engaged were killed than in any other battle of the war. Disheart- 
ened at this, and at the near approach of Benedict Arnold, St. Leger, who 
was at the head of the expedition, fled in confusion back to Canada. 
Meanwhile Burgoyne had sent out a detachment to gather supplies. This 
was utterly routed at Bennington by the Vermont farmers under General 
Stark. Through all the country round about the Americans were flocking to 
arms, their patriotism enforced by their horror at the atrocities committed by 
Burgoyne's Indian aUies and by the danger to their own homes. Practically, 
Burgoyne was surrounded, and though he fought bravely in the battles of Still- 
water (September 19, 1777) and Bemis's Heights (October 7th), he was over- 
matched. Ten days after the last-named battle he surrendered with all his 
forces to General Gates, who was now at the head of the American forces in 
that vicinity and thus received the nominal honor of the result, although it was 
really due rather to the skill and courage of General Schuyler and General 
Arnold. Almost six thousand soldiers laid down their arms, and the artillery, 
small arms, ammunition, clothing, and other military stores which fell into Gen- 
eral Gates's hands were immensely valuable. Almost greater than the prac- 
tical gain of this splendid triumph was that of the respect at once accorded 
throughout the world to American courage and military capacity. 

General Burgoyne had every right to lay the blame for the mortifying 
failure of his expedition upon Howe, who had totally failed to carry out his 
part of the plan of campaign. It was essential to the success of this plan that 
Howe should have pushed an army up the Hudson to support Burgoyne. In 
leaving this undone he committed the greatest blunder of the war. Why he 
acted as he did was for a long while a mystery, but letters brought to light 
eighty years after the war was over show that he was strongly influenced by 
the traitorous arguments of his prisoner, Charles Lee, who for a time, at least, 
had decided to desert the American cause. While in this frame of mind he 
convinced Howe that there was, plenty of time to move upon and seize 
Philadelphia and still come to Burgoyne's aid in season. Howe should have 
known Washington's methods better by this time. At first the British General 
attempted a march through New Jersey, but for nearly three weeks Washington 
blocked his movements, out-manceuvred him in the fencing for advantage of 
position, and finally compelled him to withdraw, bafiled, to New York. Though 
no fighting of consequence occurred in this period, it is, from the military 
standpoint, one of the most interesting of the entire war. The result was that 
Howe, unwilling to give up his original design, transported his army to the 
mouth of the Delaware by sea, then decided to make his attempt by way of 
Chesapeake Bay, and finall3^ after great delay, landed his forces at the head of 
that bay, fifty miles from Philadelphia. Washington interposed his army 
between the enemy and the city and for several weeks delayed its inevitable 



84 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

capture. In the Battle of Brandywine the Americans put eleven thousand 
troops in the field against eighteen thousand of the British, and were defeated, 
though by no means routed (September ii, 1777). After Howe had seized 
the city he found it necessary to send part of his army to capture the forts on 
the Delaware River, and this gave the Americans the opportunity of an attack 
with evenly balanced forces. Unfortunately, the battle of Germantown was, by 
reason of a heavy fog, changed into a confused conflict, in which some American 
reofiments fired into others, and which ended in the retreat of our forces. 
Washington drew back and went into winter quarters at Valley Forge. Con. 
gress, on the approach of the enemy, had fled to York. Howe had accomplished 
his immediate object, but at what a cost ! The possession of Philadelphia had 
not appreciably brought nearer the subjugation of the former colonies, while 
the opportunity to co-operate with Burgoyne had been irretrievably lost, and, 
as we have seen, a great and notable triumph had been gained by the Americans 
in his surrender. 

The memorable winter which Washington spent at Valley Forge he often 
described as the darkest of his life. The course of the war had not been 
altogether discouraging, but he had to contend with the inaction of Congress, 
with cabals of envious rivals, and with the wretched lack of supplies and food. 
He writes to Congress that when he wished to draw up his troops to fight, the 
men were unable to stir on account of hunger, that 2898 men were unfit for 
duty because they were barefooted and half naked, that " for seven days past 
there has been little else than a famine in the camp." Meanwhile an intrigue 
to supersede Washington by Gates was on foot and nearly succeeded. The 
whole country also was suffering from the depreciated Continental currency 
and from the lack of power in the general government to lay taxes. What a 
contrast is there between Washington's position at this time and the e.nthusiasm 
with which the whole country flocked to honor him in the autumn ot the first 
year of his Presidency (1789), when he made a journey which was one long 
series of ovations. An idea of the character of these is given in the accom- 
panying picture of his reception at Trenton, where the date on the triumphal 
arch recalled that famous Christmas night when he outwitted the British. 

But encouragement from abroad was at hand. Perhaps the most im- 
portant result of Burgoyne's surrender was its influence in procuring us the 
French Alliance. Already a strong sympathy had been aroused for the Amer- 
ican cause in France. The nobility were influenced in no small degree by the 
sentimental and philosophical agitation for ideal liberty which preceded the 
brutal reality of the French Revolution. Lafayette, then a mere boy of 
eighteen, had fitted out a ship with supplies at his own expense, and had 
laid his services at Washington's command. Our Commissioners to France 
• — ^John Adams, Arthur Lee, and Benjamin Franklin — had labored night and 





LJ 




Drawn i'\ I ^Iceplcr Davis. 

THE CAPTURE OF MAJOR ANDRE 

His three captors, Pauling, Van Wart and Williams, were honored with medals and i200.00 a year for life, and 

monuments were erected to thtrir mem-trie- by our ' iovernmenl. 



CLINTON ABANDONS PHILADELPHIA. 85 

day for the alliance. Franklin, in particular, had, by his shrewd and homely 
wit, his honesty of purpose and his high patriotism, made a profound im- 
pression upon the French people. We read that on one occasion he was 
made to embrace the role of an Apostle of Liberty at an elegant fete where 
" the most beautiful of three hundred women was designated to go and place 
on the philosopher's white locks a crown of laurel, and to give the old man two 
kisses on his cheeks." Very " French " this, but not without its significance. 
But after all, the thing which turned the scale with the French Govern- 
ment was the partial success of our armies. France was only too willing, 
under favoring circumstances, to obtain its revenge upon Great Britain for 
many recent defeats and slights. So it was that in the beginning of 1778 the 
independence of the United States was recognized by France and a fleet was 
sent to our assistance. During the winter, meanwhile, the thirteen States had 
adopted in Congress articles of confederation and perpetual union, which were 
slowly and hesitatingly ratified by the legislatures of the several States. 

The news of the reinforcements on their way from France, led Sir Henry 
Clinton, who had now succeeded Howe in the chief command of the British, to 
abandon Philadelphia, and mass his forces at New York. This he did in June, 
1778, sending part of the troops by sea and the rest northward, through New 
Jersey. Washington instantly broke camp, followed the enemy, and overtook 
him at Monmouth Court House. In the battle which followed the forces were 
equally balanced, each having about fifteen thousand men The American 
attack was entrusted to Charles Lee, who had been exchangfed, and whose 
treachery' was not suspected. Again Lee disobeyed orders, and directed a 
retreat at the critical minute of the fight. Had Washington not arrived, the 
retreat would have been a rout ; as it was he turned it into a victory, driving 
the British from their position, and gained the honors of the day. But had it 
not been for Lee, this victory might have easily been made a crushing and final 
defeat for the British army. A court-martial held upon Lee's conduct expelled 
him from the army. Years later he died a disgraced man, though it is only in 
our time that the full extent of his dishonor has been understood. 

The scene of the most important military operations now changes from the 
Northern to the Southern States. But before speaking of the campaign which 
ended with Cornwallis's surrender, we may characterize the fighting in the 
North, which went on in the latter half of the war, as desultory and unsystem- 
atic in its nature. The French fleet under Count d'Estaing was unable to 
cross the New York bar on account of the depth of draught of its greatest 
ships ; and for that reason the attempt to capture New York City was aban- 
doned. Its next attempt was to wrest Rhode Island from the British. This 
also was defeated, partly because of a storm at a critical moment, partly 
throuofh a misunderstanding- with the American allies. After these two failures. 



86 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



the French fleet sailed to the West Indies to injure British interests there. The 
assault on the fort at Stony Point by " Mad Anthony " Wayne has importance 
as a brilliant and thrilling episode, and was of 

value in strengthening our position on the Hudson .,,,^ 

River. All alonaf the border the Tories were »; 

inciting the Indians to barbarous attacks. The ■ ii 

most important and ^ 

'deplorable of these at- ''^^-■- ^>^r^-\ ^,.v**'«:<^ 




WASHINGTON REPROVING LEE AT 

MONMOUTH. 



tacks were those which ended 
in the massacres at Wyoming 
and Cherry Valley. Reprisals 
for these atrocities were taken 
by General Sullivan's expedi- 
tion, which defeated the Tories 
and Indians combined, near Elmira, with great slaughter. But all these events, 
like the British sudden attacks on the Connecticut ports of New Haven, 



BRITISH CONCESSION REPELLED. 



87 



Fairfield, and Norwalk, were, as we have said, ratlier detached episodes than 
related parts of a campaign. 

We should also note before entering upon the final chapter of the war, that 
Great Britain had politically receded from her position. Of her own accord 
she had offered to abrogate the offensive legislation which had provoked the 
colonies to war. But it was too late ; the proposition of peace commissioners 
sent to America to acknowledge the principle of taxation by colonial assemblies 




NEGRO VILLAGE IN GEORGIA. 



was not for a moment considered. The watchword of America was now 
Independence, and there was no disposition in any quarter to accept anything 
less than full recoenition of the rights of the United States as a Nation. 

The second and last serious and concerted effort by the British to subjugate 
the American States had as its scene of operations our Southern territory. At 
first it seemed to succeed. A long series of reverses to the cause of independ- 
ence were reported from Georgia and South Carolina. The plan formed by 



88 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

Sir Henry Clinton and Cornwallis was, in effect, to begin at the extreme South 
and overpower one State after another until the army held in reserve about 
New York could co-operate with that advancing victoriously from the South. 
Savannah had been captured in 1778, while General Lincoln, who commanded 
our forces, was twice defeated with great loss — once at Brier Creek, in an advance 
upon Savannah, when his lieutenant. General Ashe, was actually routed with very 
heavy loss ; and once when Savannah had been invested by General Lincoln 
himself by land, while the French fleet under d'Estaing besieged the city by sea. 
In a short time Georgia was entirely occupied by the British. They were soon 
reinforced by Sir Henry Clinton in person, with an army, and the united forces 
moved upward into South Carolina with thirteen thousand men. Lincoln was 
driven into Charleston, was there besieged, and (May 12, 1780) was forced to 
surrender not only the city but his entire army. A desultory but brilliant 
guerrilla warfare was carried on at this time by the Southern militia and light 
cavalry under the dashing leadership of Francis Marion, "the Swamp Fox," 
and the partisan, Thomas Sumter. 

These men were privateers on horseback. Familiar with the tangled swamps 
and always well mounted, even though in rags themselves, they were the terror 
of the invaders. At the crack of their rifles the pickets of Cornwallis fled, 
leaving a score of dead behind. The dreaded cavalry of Tarleton often came 
back from their raids with many a saddle emptied by the invisible foes. They 
were here, they were everywhere. Their blows were swift and sure ; their 
vigilance sleepless. Tarleton had been sent by Cornwallis with a force of 
seven hundred cavalry to destroy a patriot force in North Carolina, under Bu- 
ford, which resulted in his utterly destroying about four hundred of the patriots 
at Waxhaw, the affair being more of a massacre than a battle. Thus the name 
of Tarleton came to be hated in the South as that of Benedict Arnold was in 
the North. He was dreaded for his celerity and cruelty. As illustrative of the 
spirit of the Southern colonists, we may be pardoned for the digression of the 
following anecdote. The fighting of Marion and his men was much like that of 
the wild Apaches of the southwest. When hotly pursued by the enemy his 
command would break up into small parties, and these as they were hard pressed 
would subdivide, until nearly every patriot was fleeing alone. There could be 
no successful pursuit, therefore, since the subdivision of the pursuing party 
weakened it too much. 

"We will give fifty pounds to get within reach of the scamp that galloped 
by here, just ahead of us," exclaimed a lieutenant of Tarleton's cavalry, as he 
and three other troopers drew up before a farmer, who was hoeing in the field 
by the roadside. 

The farmer looked up, leaned on his hoe, took off his old hat and mopping 
his forehead with his handkerchief looked at the angry soldier and said : — 



AN INTERESTING ANECDOTE. 



89 



■AmT^- 



"Fifty pounds is a big lot of money." 

"So it is in these times, but we'll give it to you in gold, if you'll show 
us where we can get ....=.^==v5»,.:=,??ss-= 

a chance at the rebel ; - 

did you see him ? " 

"He was all 
alone, was 
he? And 




TARLETON'S LIEUTENANT AND THE FARMER (JACK DAVIS). 

he was mounted on a black horse with a white star in his forehead, and he 
was going like a streak of lightning, wasn't he ?" 



90 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

"That's the fellow!" exclaimed the questioners, hoping they were about 
to get the knowledge they wanted. 

"It looked to me like Jack Davis, though he went by so fast that I couldn't 
get a square look at his face, but he was one of Marion's men, and if I ain't 
greatly mistaken it was Jack Davis himself" 

Then looking up at the four British horsemen, the farmer added, with a 
quizzical expression : — 

'T reckon that ere Jack Davis has hit you chaps pretty hard, ain't he? " 

" Never mind about that," replied the lieutenant ; "what we want to know 
is where we can get a chance at him for just about five minutes." 

The farmer put his cotton handkerchief into his hat, which he now slowly 
replaced, and shook his head : 'T don't think he's hiding round here," he said ; 
"when he shot by Jack was going so fast that it didn't look as if he could stop 
under four or five miles. Strangers, I'd like powerful well to earn that fifty 
pounds, but I don't think you'll get a chance to squander it on me." 

After some further questioning, the lieutenant and his men wheeled their 
horses and trotted back toward the main body of Tarleton's cavalry. The 
farmer plied his hoe for several minutes, gradually working his way toward the 
stretch of woods some fifty yards from the roadside. Reaching the margin of 
tlie field, he stepped in among the trees, hastily took off his clothing, tied it up 
in a bundle, shoved it under a flat rock from beneath which he drew a suit no 
better in qualit}^ but showing a faint semblance to a uniform. Putting it on 
and then plunging still deeper into the woods, he soon reached a dimly-marked 
track, which he followed only a short distance, ^when a gentle whinney fell upon 
his ear. The next moment he vaulted on the back of a bony but blooded horse, 
marked by a beautiful star in his forehead. The satin skin of the steed shone 
as though he had been traveling hard, and his rider allowed him to walk along 
the path for a couple of miles, when he entered an open space where, near a 
spring, Francis Marion and fully two hundred men were encamped. They were 
eating, smoking and chatting as though no such horror as war was known. 

You understand, of course, that the farmer that leaned on his hoe by the 
roadside and talked to Tarleton's lieutenant about Jack Davis and his exploits 
was Jack Davis himself 

Marion and his men had many stirring adventures. A British officer, sent 
to settle some business with Marion, was asked by him to stay to dinner. 
Marion was always a charming gentleman, and the visitor accepted the 
invitation, but he was astonished to find that the meal consisted only of 
baked sweet potatoes served on bark. No apology was made, but the guest 
could not help asking his host whether that dinner was a specimen of his 
regular bill of fare. "It is," replied Marion, "except that to-day, in honor of 
your presence, we have more than the usual allowance." 



CAMPAIGN IN THE SOUTH. 



91 



North Carolina was now in danger, and it was to be defended by the 
overrated General Gates, whose 
campaign was marked by every in- ^ 

dication of military incapacity. His - "- --" -^^ .- 

attacks were invariably made reck- 
lessly, and his positions were ill- 
chosen. At 
Camden he 




ESCAPE OF BENEDICT ARNOLD. 

was utterly and disgracefully 
defeated by Lord Cornwallis 
(August 16, 1780). It seemed 
now as if the British forces could easily hold the territory already won and 
could advance safely into Virginia. This was, indeed, one of the darkest 
periods in the history of our war, and even Washington was inclined to despair. 



92 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

To add to the feeling of despondency came the news of Benedict Arnold's 
infamous treachery. In the early part of the war he had served, not merely 
with credit but with the highest distinction. Ambitious and passionate by temper, 
he had justly been indignant at the slights put upon him by the promotion over 
his head of several officers who were far less entitled than he to such a reward. 
He had also, perhaps, been treated with undue severity in his trial by court- 
martial on charges relating to his accounts and matters of discipline. No doubt 
he was greatly influenced by his marriage to a lady of great beauty, who was in 
intimate relations with many of the leading Tories. It is more than probable, 
still further, that he believed the cause of American independence could never 
be won. But neither explanations nor fancied wrongs in the least mitigate the 
baseness of his conduct. He deliberately planned to be put in command of 
West Point, with the distinct intention of handing it over to the British in return 
for thirty thousand dollars in money and a command in the British army. It 
was almost an accident that the emissary between Arnold and Clinton, Major 
Andre was captured by Paulding and his rough but incorruptible fellows. 
Andre's personal charm and youth created a feeling of sympathy for him, but it 
cannot be for a moment denied that he was justly tried and executed, in accor- 
dance with the law of nations. Had Arnold's attempt succeeded, it is more 
than likely that the blow dealt our cause would have been fatal. His subse- 
quent service in the British army only deepened the feeling of loathing with which 
his name was heard by Americans ; while even his new allies distrusted and 
despised him, and at one time Cornwallis positively refused to act in concert 
with him. 

A bright and cheering contrast to this dark episode is that of the glorious 
victories at sea won by John Paul Jones, who not only devastated British com- 
merce, but, in a desperately fought naval battle, captured two British men-of-war, 
the "Serapis" and the "Countess of Scarborough," and carried the new 
American flag into foreign ports with the prestige of having swept everything 
before him on the high seas. Here was laid the foundation of that reputation 
for intrepidity and gallantry at sea which the American navy so well sustained 
in our second war with Great Britain. 

As the year 1780 advanced, the campaign in the South began to assume a 
more favorable aspect. General Greene was placed in command of the 
American army and at once began a series of rapid and confusing movements, 
now attacking the enemy in front, now cutting off his communications in the 
rear, but always scheming for the advantage of position, and usually obtaining 
it. He was aided ably by " Light Horse Harry " Lee and by General Morgan. 
Even before his campaign began the British had suffered a serious defeat at 
King's Mountain, just over the line between North and South Carolina, where 
a body of southern and western backwoodsmen had cut to pieces and finally 




>♦ 

/ 




r 



'\ 



w" ■'•*; ■' ' 








/M 





M .... 



Drawn by H. A. O^^den. 

THE SURRENDER OF THE BRITISH AT YORKTOWN, OCTOBER 19th, 1781 

The number of British who surrendered was 7,247 soldiers and 840 seamen. This event marked the ..lose ot the 

Revolutionary War, and the end of British sovereignty in the (_ oionies. 




Drawn l,y C Kendrii.k. 

•'I AM READY FOR ANY SERVICE THAT I CAN GIVE MY COUNTRY" 

In 1798 our Government was about to declare war against France. Congress appointed Washington cummaiider- 

In-chief of the American Army. The Sccretarv of War carried the commission in person to Mt. Vernon. 

The I'id hero, sitting on his horse in the harvest field, accepted in the above patriotic word';. 



THE END APPROACHING. 93 

captured a British detachment of twelve hundred men. Greene followed up 
this victory by sending Morgan to attack one wing of Cornwallis's army at 
Cowpens, near by King's Mountain, where again a large body of the enemy 
were captured with a very slight loss on the part of the Americans. Less 
decisive was the battle of Guilford Court House (March 15, 1781), which was 
contested with great persistency and courage by both armies. At the end of 
the day the British held the field, but the position was too perilous for Corn- 
wallis to maintain lono^, and he retreated forthwith to the coast. General Greene 
continued to seize one position after another, driving the scattered bodies of the 
British through South Carolina and finally meeting them face to face at Eutaw 
Springs, where another equally contested battle took place ; in which, as at 
Guilford, the British claimed the honors of the day, but which also resulted in 
their ultimately giving away before the Americans and intrenching themselves 
in Charleston. Now, indeed, the British were to move into Virginia, not as 
they had originally planned, but because the more southern States were no 
longer tenable. It seemed almost as if Greene were deliberately driving them 
northward, so that in the end they might lie between two American armies. 
But they made a strong stand at Yorktown, in which a small Bri-tish army 
under Benedict Arnold was already in possession and had been opposed by 
Lafayette. 

Washington, who had been watching the course of events with the keen 
eye of the master strategist, saw that the time had come for a decisive blow. 
The French fleet was sent to the Chesapeake, and found little difficulty in re- 
ducing the British force and approaching Yorktown by sea. Washington's own 
army had been lying along the Hudson, centered at West Point, ready to meet 
any movement by Sir Henry Clinton's army at New York. Now Washington 
moved southward down the Hudson into the upper part of New Jersey. It was 
universally believed that he was about to attack the British at New York. Even 
his own officers shared this belief But with a rapidity that seems astonishing, 
and with the utmost skill in handling his forces, Washington led them swiftly 
on, still in the line toward the south, and before Clinton had grasped his Inten- 
tion he was well on his way to Virginia. Cornwallis was now assailed both by 
land and by sea ; he occupied a peninsula, from which he could not escape 
except by forcing a road through Washington's united army of sixteen thousand 
men. The city of Yorktown was bombarded for three weeks. An American 
officer writes : "The whole peninsula trembles under the incessant thunderings 
of our infernal machines." General Rochambeau who had been placed in com- 
mand of the French forces in America, actively co-operated with Washington. 
The meeting of the two great commanders forms the subject of one of our 
illustrations. Good soldier and good general as Cornwallis was, escape was 
impossible. On October 19, 1781, he suffered the humiliation of a formal sur 



94 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

render of his army of over seven thousand men, with two hundred and forty 
cannon, twenty-eight regimental standards, and vast quantities of military stores 
and provisions. When Lord North, the English Minister, heard of the 
surrender, we are told, he paced the floor in deep distress, and cried, " O God, 
it is all over ! " 

And so it was, in fact. The cause of American independence had practi- 
tically been won. Hostilities, it is true, continued in a feeble and half-hearted 
way, and it was not until September, 1783, that the Treaty of Peace secured by 
John Jay, John Adams, and Benjamin Franklin was actually signed — a treaty 
which was not only honorable to us, but which, in the frontier boundaries 
adopted, was more advantageous than even our French allies were inclined 
to approve, giving us as it did the territory westward to the Mississippi and 
southward to Florida. Great Britain as a nation had become heartily sick and 
tired of her attempt to coerce her former colonies. As the war progressed she 
had managed to involve herself in hostilities not only with France, but with 
Spain and Holland, and even with the native princes of India. Lord North's 
Ministry fell, the star of the younger Pitt arose into the ascendency, and 
George the Third's attempt to establish a purely personal rule at home and 
abroad was defeated beyond redemption. 

As we read of the scanty recognition given by the American States to the 
soldiers who had fought their battles ; as we learn that it was only Wash- 
ington's commanding influence that restrained these soldiers, half starved and 
half paid, from compelling that recognition from Congress by force ; as we 
perceive how many and serious were the problems of finance and of govern- 
ment distracting the State Legislatures ; a.s, in short, we see the political 
disintegration and chaotic condition of affairs in the newly born Nation, we 
recognize the fact that the struggle which had just ended so triumphantly was 
but the prelude to another, more peaceful but not less vital, struggle — that for 
the founding of a strong, coherent, and truly National Government. The latter 
struggle began before the Revolution was over and lasted until, in 1787, by 
mutual concession and mutual compromise was formed the Constitution of the 
United States. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE STRXJGQLE FOR LIBERTY AND GOVERNNIENT 
BEFORE AND AFTER THE REVOLUTION. 



BY FRANCIS NEWTON THORPE, Ph. D., 
Professor of American Constitutional History, University of Pennsylvania. 



prn 

principal rights 



At the time of the colonization of America the land of Great Britain was 
controlled, if not owned, by not more than a hundred men, and political 
ivileees were exercised by less than a thousand times as many. The 
of the masses were of a civil nature. The jury trial was an 
ancient right guaranteed by Magna Charta, 
but by the union of church and state, the 
thought and the activities of the English 
people were authoritatively uniform, and 
any departure from traditional belief, 
either in matters ecclesiastical or civil, was 
viewed with disapproval. 

But a people of so diversified a 
genius for good government as are the 
people of Anglo-Saxon stock could not 
long- remain subject to serious limitations 
on their prosperity. America was the 
opportunity for liberty, the first opportu- 
nity for the diversification of Anglo-Saxon 
energies, and for the realization of the 
hopes of mankind. There is a uniformity 
in the development of human affairs. 
Agriculture is improved in means and 
methods by improvements in manufactures, and a larger conception of the 
nature of the State always finds response in the home comforts of the people. 
The opportunities of America caused greater comfort and happiness among 
the English people who stayed at home. 

The colonization of America by the English was after two systems, that of the 

95 




FRANCIS NEWTON THORPE, Ph.B. 



96 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

commercial enterprise, that of the religious undertaking : the commercial system 
was illustrated in the Virginia enterprise, the religious undertaking, in the New 
England. Sir Walter Raleigh had conceived of planting a colony in the Carolinas, 
but his colony, had it succeeded, would have been a repetition of an English 
shire, continuing the limitations on the common life, the limitations of property 
and condition incident to English life at the close of the sixteenth century. 
Providence saved America for larger undertakings, and though the ideas of 
Raleigh were at the foundation of the first Virginia adventure, the charter of 
1606 gave larger privileges to the adventurers than had the charter to Raleigh 
or to Gilbert of nearly a quarter of a century before ; and the first adventure 
to Virginia demonstrated that a new age had come, for the conditions of life in 
the wilderness would not permit the transplanting of the feudal system, and the 
enterprise failed because it lacked men and women who were willing to work 
and to make homes for themselves. 

The second charter of three years later gave larger inducements to embark 
in the undertaking, but little guarantee of privilege to individuals who might 
seek their fortunes in Virginia. It was yet two years before King James 
granted the third charter empowering the little colony at Jamestown to enter 
upon the serious undertaking of local self-government. 

As soon as the instincts of the Anglo-Saxon could have room in America 
for the exercise of those persistent ideas which make the glory of the race, the 
winning of American liberty was assured. A little Parliament was called in 
Virginia, and this assembly of a score of men began the long history of free 
legislation, which, in spite of many errors, has given expression to the wishes 
of millions of men in America who have toiled in its fields, worked in its fac- 
tories, instructed in its schools, directed its finances, controlled its trade, devel- 
oped its mines, and spread its institutions westward over the continent. But the 
first victory of liberty was in the forum, not in the field. 

The ancient and undoubted rights of the people of England gave to the 
inhabitants of each borough the right to representation in Parliament, and the 
plantations in Virginia, becoming the first shires of the New World, became also 
the first units of civil jurisdiction. The planters claimed and exercised the 
right to choose deputies to meet in General Court in the colony for the purpose 
of considering the wants of the various plantations, and particularly for the pur- 
pose of levying such taxes as might be required for the general welfare. The 
long struggle for liberty in America began when the House of Burgesses in 
Virginia asserted and assumed its right to levy the taxes of the colony, to 
vote the supplies to the governor, and to control the financial affairs of the 
plantations. 

The New England settlements from Plymouth to Portland, following hard 
after the settlements in Virginia, began local government after the same model. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



97 



The town-meeting was the local democracy which examined and discussed 
freely all matters of local interest. In the town-meeting assembled the free- 
men who wrote and spoke as they thought; elected "men of their own choos- 
ing," and made laws to please themselves ; chose both servants to execute 
and to administer the laws, and held their representatives responsible for their 
public service. But the local communities in New England, — the several towns, 
—soon applied the representative principle in government, and each town 

chose its deputies to meet 
with the deputies of other 
towns in General Assembly 
for the purpose of taking 
into consideration the affairs 
of the colony. 

The settlers in Salem and 
Boston, when they arrived 
with John Winthrop, had 
brought with them a Great 
Charter, transferring the gov- 
ernment from old England 
to Massachusetts, and there 
they enlarged the member- 
ship of the Company of 
Massachusetts Bay.and trans- 
formed the government into 
a representative republic. 
The inhabitants of Virginia 
had not authority to elect 
their own governor, save for 
a short time during the days 
of the Commonwealth in 
England, but for more than 
half a century the people of 
Massachusetts chose all their 
public officers and instructed them at their pleasure. The immediate responsi- 
bility of the representative of the town to the townsmen was the fundamental 
notion in the New England idea of government. 

But the representative republic, the commonwealth, of New England, was 
not composed of freemen only, for there were many inhabitants of Massachu 
setts who were excluded from participation in the political life of the colony. 
During the half century of government under the old charter, the people of 
Massachusetts comprised both church members and non-church members, 




THE LIBERTY BELL, AS EXHIBITED AT THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION. 



98 THE STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 

but only the churcK members were eligible to public ofifice. ^Persons dis- 
jtenting from the congregational polity in church and state, persons not 
communicants in the orthodox establishment, were excluded from direct 
participation in the government ; they could not vote, they could not hold 
office, their children could not be baptized. When Charles II caused the 
forfeiture of the Massachusetts charter in 1684, although the liberty of 
Massachusetts seemed greatly endangered, yet a nearer approach to the 
definition of liberty was made ; for the careless King, in order to win approval 
of his procedure among the colonists, had already intimated his desire to 
enlarge the franchise in Massachusetts, and to open the privileges of freedom 
more liberally to the inhabitants of the colony. This proposition to enlarge 
the liberties of the inhabitants met with disfavor among the conservatives, and 
the voice of the established church in the colony was raised against the in- 
novation. 

In spite, however, of the limitations on the political rights of the inhabitants 
of Massachusetts, their civil rights were carefully guarded and freely exercised. 
It should be observed that throughout the history of America the ancient civil 
rights under Anglo-Saxon institutions have generally been carefully observed. 

The winning of liberty in America has been largely the liberty of exercising 
political rights, until it has become common to estimate all privileges in America 
by the standard of political freedom. We should not forget that there are other 
rights than those political ; there are moral, civil, and industrial rights, whose 
exercise is as important for the welfare of the citizen as is the exercise of rights 
political. 

The winning of civil independence is the glory of the barons of 1215 ; for 
It was impossible for them to win civil rights for themselves without winning 
civil rights for the whole nation, and the application of the principle for which 
they struggled was necessarily universal, so that the humble tenant of the 
landed estate must participate in the privileges of civil liberty. 

The New England colonists, moving westward and southwestward over the 
domain which we call New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, and Rhode Island, 
spread the customs of civil privilege and carried with them the constitution of 
government to which they had been accustomed. Williams, in Rhode Island, 
attempted a pure democracy, which in its early days was a tumultuous assem 
blage, but taught by experience became a happy and prosperous community. 
Connecticut, differing but slightly in its colonial ideas from those of Massachu- 
setts, was empowered by its liberal charter of 1663 to become almost an 
independent commonwealth. The whole spirit of the New England people in 
government was to exercise liberty in civil affairs and a qualified liberty in 
political affairs. The civil rights of the inhabitants of New England down to 
the time of the Revolution were quite uniform, but their political rights were 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 99 

determined by qualifications of property, of religious opinion, of sex, of age, 
and of residence. 

The old English idea of political right carried with it similar qualifications, 
and the conservative Virginians, like the conservative people of New England, 
could not conceive of citizenship apart from a landed estate and established re- 
ligious opinions. Were we to use the language of our day we should say that 
the voter in colonial times was required, whether citizen of a northern or of a 
southern colony, to subscribe to a creed and to possess an acreage. At a time 
when land was to be had without cost, save of labor and cultivation, the qualifica- 
tion of real property was not a heavy burden, and so long as the earnest judg- 
ment of the majority of the inhabitants favored the supremacy of any ecclesiasdcal 
system, conformity to that system was equally easy ; but as soon as free investi- 
gation of the questions of church and state became the spirit of the age, there 
would necessarily follow modification in the requirements for citizenship, and the 
qualifications for an elector would necessarily change. 

In all the charters establishino- colonial o-overnments there was inserted a 
provision that the legislation permitted to the colonial Assemblies created by the 
charters should be as nearly as may be according to the laws of England. This 
provision recognized the necessity for a liberal interpretation of legislative grants 
to the colonial Assemblies. Isolated from the home government and left to 
themselves, the colonists learned the habits of self-government and they made 
most liberal interpretations of their charters. The House of Burgesses in Vir- 
ginia and its successors throughout the land construed the privileges of legisla- 
tion practically as the admission of their independence, and colonial legislation 
was a departure from parliamentary control. 

The local American Assemblies, the colonial legislatures, were composed 
of two branches : the upper, consisting of the governor and his council ; the 
lower, of the representatives, or delegates, from the counties or towns. The 
latter, after the manner of the English burgesses, the representatives of the 
counties and towns in the colony, took control of the taxing power in America. 

England, by her navigation laws, compelled the colonies to transport all 
their productions in English ships, manned by Englishmen and sailing to 
English ports ; no manufacturing was allowed in the colonies, and inter-colonial 
trade was discouraged. The immediate consequence of the navigation acts, 
which to the number of about thirty were passed from time to time in the British 
Parliament, was to keep the colonies in an agricultural condition, to strip then\ 
of gold and silver coin, and to leave them to their own devices to find substi- 
tutes for money ; for, unable to manufacture the articles they needed, they were 
obliged to buy these articles principally in England, and to pay for them either 
with the raw productions which they exported or with coin, and the exportation 
of coin from the colonies was relatively as great as the exportation of produce. 

L.ofC. 



lOO 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



Money is the instrument of exchange and the means of association ; the 
colonists were compelled to exchange, and to seek that economic association 
which is the assurance and the health of civil life. 




MEETING OF WASHINGTON AND ROCHAMBEAU. 



The people were constantly clamoring for more money and for the issuing 
of a circulating medium. Massachusetts, in the middle of the seventeenth 
century had set up a mint, which coined a small quantity of shillings ; but the 



ISSUE OF PAPER MONEY. loi 

mint was a trespass upon the- sovereign right of the king and had no 
leo-al standing in the kingdom. The colonists, therefore, soon entered upon 
the experiment of making substitutes for money. Paper money, in a great 
variety of forms, was issued by the colonial Assemblies, and the issues were 
made chiefly for local circulation. The paper money of New Jersey circulated 
in New York, Pennsylvania, and Delaware, and to a less amount as the distance 
from New Jersey increased. New England money was little known in the 
southern colonies, and the paper issues of the Carolinas were rarely seen in 
New York. There was no acquaintance, no public faith common to the colonies, 
and although sanguinary laws were made to maintain the value of paper issues, 
there is evidence that counterfeits were almost as common as the original bills. 

So long as the issue of paper money was limited, and the colony which is- 
sued it had perfect faith in its value, the issue circulated, though its value con- 
stantly tended to depreciate throughout the colony ; but there was no unit of 
measure, no fixed standard of values, and it was quite impossible to fix the 
value of the issue in one colony by that of any issue in another colony. By the 
time the American Revolution was passed, the over-Issue of paper moneys was 
evident to all thoughtful people, but there was no production of gold or 
silver ; there was little export of commodities which brought in coin, and the 
Legislatures of the various States — for so the General Assemblies of the colonies 
had now become — were compelled to enter upon a course of legislation, having 
in view the maintenance of a truly valuable circulating medium. 

Another great question had meantime been brought forward : the relation 
of the local communities to the common or general government. As early as 
1643 the New England colonies, comprising committees of "like membership 
in the church," had consolidated for the purpose of defense and general wel- 
fare, and the principle which led to the union was the principle which led to the 
"more perfect union" of a hundred and thirty years later. If any change 
should come over the colonies by which the people should become like minded, 
as were the inhabitants of the New England colonies in 1643, then a union of 
the people of the colonies could be made. One of the causes which led to the 
American Revolution was this latent but powerful tendency in the colonies 
toward a common understanding of their character, conditions, and wants. 

The local Assemblies of the colonies had assumed unto themselves gradu- 
ally what may be called the prerogatives of legislation. They enacted laws on 
the whole range of subjects political, industrial, social, and ecclesiastical. They 
did not hesitate to attempt to solve any of the questions which arose from time 
to time, and as they attempted the solution of the economic questions of the 
colonies, they departed further and further from the strict interpretation of their 
charters, and made laws less and less "as near as may be conformable to the 
laws of England." But the Assemblies were uniform in claiming and in exercis- 



I02 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

ing the right of levying taxes. As delegates of the people, they assumed the 
exclusive right of distributing the burden of the State upon the inhabitants. 
This assumption was never acknowledged by the King or by Parliament ; for it 
was an assumption which denied the sovereignty of the King, and the su- 
premacy of Parliament in legislation. The liberty to levy taxes was the greatest 
privilege in practical government claimed by the Americans of the colonial era, 
and the winning of colonial independence was the victory of freedom in 
taxation. 

While the latent tendency in the colonies was undoubtedly toward union, it 
may be said that there never existed colonies which exhibited stronger tendencies 
to diversity than the English colonies in America. The whole range of American 
life was toward individualism, and the freedom from those restrictions which 
ever characterize older communities favored the tendency. As the New 
England people went into the west, planting civil institutions in New York 
and along the southern shores of the Great Lakes, the individualistic 
tendencies in religion, in politics, in education, and invention strengthened 
with every wave of population. As the Virginians and the Carolinians passed 
over the mountains, they also were strengthened in their individualistic 
.otions, and the founders of Kentucky and of Tennessee, while following theit 
instincts and the customs of the tide-water region whence they came, enlarged 
upon their notions, and organized government under more liberal provisions 
than those which prevailed eastward over the mountains. While the continental 
troops were winning the victories of the Revolution, the settlers in the State of 
Franklin were claiming independence. 

It is an error to suppose that the people of the colonies were unanimous 
in demanding independence, or that the majority of them supported the idea 
or, it may be said, ever understood its true meaning. The thirteen Colonies 
entered upon the struggle at a time when the United Kingdom was unable to 
compel them to submit to the legislation of Parliament. England possessed 
no great soldiers who could direct her armies in America ; the colonies were 
therefore free to convert all the advantages of their isolation into a strong 
self-defense. Colonial legislation had isolated them, the imperfect facilities 
in transportation isolated them, and the whole tendencies of colonial institu- 
tions strengthened them in this isolation. 

The assumption of the taxing power by the Lower House in the several 
(colonies, and its persistent exercise for more than a century and a half, neces- 
sarily brought Parliament and the local Assemblies into collision. The Navi- 
gation Acts and the Stamp Act were financial measures of Parliament for the 
purpose of raising an imperial revenue in the colonies. A clearer idea is 
gained of the reasons for the hostility against this Parlimentar)'^ measure when 
we reflect that no common taxing power was known to the colonists ; the 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 103 

local Legislature of each colony was supreme within its jurisdiction ; a propo- 
sition for a continental power which could levy a tax for continental pur- 
poses had never been entertained by the colonists and they would have 
resented a proposition emanating from among themselves for continental tax- 
ation quite as quickly as they resented the proposition in Parliament to levy 
a tax on tea. The continuous legislation of tl]e local Assemblies had taught 
the Americans to believe that local interests were supreme. It can now be 
seen that the Stamp Act and the Tea Tax operated to compel the colonies 
toward the union which they would in all probability never have made of 
themselves without this external pressure. 

The throwing overboard of the tea in Boston harbor is a picturesque 
■incident in American history, because it stands for the fundamental idea of 
American right — the right of the taxpayer to levy taxes through his represent- 
ative. 

As soon as Parliament closed the port of Boston, a latent tendency in 
American affairs was displayed in various parts of the country, and nowhere 
■more clearly than in Virginia, where Patrick Henry, in an address to the Con- 
vention of delegates, with vision enlarged by the tendency of affairs, declared 
the relations of the colonies to the home government. Petitions, remonstrances, 
supplications, and prostrations before the throne had been in vain; "the 
inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending," the privi- 
leges of independent colonial taxation and of choosing delegates to levy the 
taxes, could be preserved only by war ; "three millions of people armed in the 
iioly cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are 
invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us." For the first 
time Massachusetts and Virginia were united in a common sense of danger, 
and the danger consisted chiefly in the denial of the right of the local legisla- 
ture, chosen by qualified electors, to levy a tax, and the assumption of the 
exclusive right of the British Parliament to levy a continental tax directly, 
ignoring the popular branch of the colonial Legislatures. 

From a consideration of colonial finances it seems clear that the Americans 
were not so unwilling to pay a trifling duty on tea, on legal papers, and on 
painters' material, as they were to admit the right of the British Parliament itself 
to levy the tax. Had the proposition to tax America embodied a provision that the 
tax should be levied by the local Legislatures, the American Revolution would 
have been long delayed. It cannot be said that the Americans would have 
accepted representation in Parliament as a compensation for the tax. The first 
Declaration of Rights, in 1 765, had settled that point. The American colonists 
were English subjects, and entitled to all the rights and liberties of natural born 
■subjects within the kingdom of Great Britain, and, exercising the undoubted 
•rights of Englishmen they insisted " that no tax be imposed on them but with 



I04 THE CRITICAL PERIOD OF OUR HISTORY 

their own consent, given personally or by their representatives," and " that the 
people of these colonies are not, and from their local circumstances cannot be, 
represented in the House of Commons in Great Britain," and "that the only 
representatives of the people of these colonies are persons chosen therein by 
themselves, and that no taxes ever have been or can be constitutionally 
imposed on them but by their respective Legislatures." All supplies to 
the crown were "the free gifts of the people." The claim of the Americans 
at that time might be illustrated if the people of the United States should 
now insist that the revenue for the National Government should be 
collected through the lower branch of the State Legislatures, but to make 
the illustration go on all fours we should have to suppose that the people 
of the several States were not represented and did not care to be represented 
in Congress. 

The objection to an imperial tax involved the whole issue of the war, for it 
involved the fundamental idea of government in America, the Idea of represen- 
tative government. It was not representation of the Americans in the British 
parliament, it was the representation of the Americans in their own Legislatures. 
One of the tests of independence is the possession of the right to levy taxes ; 
if England withdrew her claim to levy a continental tax directly through Parlia- 
ment, the independence of the colonies was at once acknowledged. It is evident 
then that the question of taxation goes to the foundation of American institu- 
tions, and from the time of the calling of the House of Burgesses In 1619 unto 
the present hour, the definition of liberty in America has depended upon the 
use or the abuse of the ta.xing power. As soon as the Continental Congress 
attempted to levy a tax, it became unpopular. 

The time from the revolt against the stamp duties in 1775 to the inaugura- 
tion in 1 789 of the National Government under which we live has been called 
the critical period of American history. It was a period which displayed all the 
inaptitude of the Americans for sound financiering. There Is hardly an evil in 
finances that cannot be illustrated by some event in American affairs at that 
time. The Americans began the war without any preparation, they conducted 
it on credit, and at the end of fourteen years three millions of people were five 
hundred millions of dollars or more in debt. The exact amount will never be 
known. Congress and the State Legislatures issued paper currency in unlimited 
quantities and upon no security. The Americans were deceived themselves in 
believing that their products were essential to the welfare of Europe, and all 
European nations would speedily make overtures to them for the control of 
American commerce. It may be said that the Americans wholly over-estimated 
their importance in the world at that time ; they thought that to cut off 
England from American commerce would ruin England ; they thought that 
the bestowal of their commerce upon France would enrich France so much 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. i05 

that the French King, for so inestimable a privilege, could well afford to loan 
them, and even to give them, money. 

The doctrine of the rights of man ran riot in America. Paper currency 
became the infatuation of the day. It was thought that paper currency would 
meet all the demands for money, would win American independence. Even so 
practical a man as Franklin, then in France, said: "This effect of paper cur- 
rency is not understood on this side the water ; and, indeed, the whole is a 
mystery even to the politicians, how we have been able to continue a war four 
years without money, and how we could pay with paper that had no previously 
fixed fund appropriated specifically to redeem it. This currency, as we manage 
it, is a wonderful machine : it performs its office when we issue it ; it pays and 
clothes troops and provides victuals and ammunition, and when we are obliged 
to issue a quantity excessive, it pays itself off by depreciation." 

If the taxing power is the most august power in government, the abuse of 
the taxing power is the most serious sin government can commit. No one 
will deny that the Americans are guilt}^ of committing most grievous financial 
offenses during the critical period of their history. They abused liberty by 
demanding and by exercising the rights of nationality, and at the same time by 
neglecting or refusing to burden themselves with the taxation necessary to 
support nationality. 

It has long been the custom to describe the American Revolution as a 
righteous uprising of an abused people against a cruel despot ; we were 
taught in school that taxation without representation was tyranny, and that our 
fathers fought the war out on this broad principle. Much of this assumption 
is true, but it is also true that the winning of American independence was not 
complete until Americans had adequately provided for the wants of nationality 
by authorizing their representatives in State Legislatures and in the Congress 
of the United States to support the dignity which liberty had conferred, by an 
adequate system of common taxation. We now consider the American Revolu- 
tion as the introduction to American nationality. 

The hard necessities which brought the Americans to a consciousness of 
their obligations, led to the calling of the Constitutional Convention in Phila- 
delphia in 1787. If the liberty of self-government was won by the war, it was 
secured by the Constitution ; for the first effort toward a national government, the 
old Confederation, utterly failed, for lack of a Supreme Legislative, a Supreme 
Executive, and a Supreme Judiciary. The government under the Articles of 
Confederation broke down wholly in its effort to collect money. This collapse of 
the Confederation emphasized the difference between the theory and the admin- 
istration of government, for the articles of Confederation and the Declaration 
of Independence emanated from two committees appointed the same day: 
the report of one committee was the Declaration of Independence, which was 



io6 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

debated but little and universally adopted a few days after it was reported ; 
the report of the other committee, the Articles of Confederation, was debated 
in Congress for more than a year and in the State Legislatures for nearly five 
years, and when at last adopted, it was found that the Articles were wholly 
inadequate for the wants of the people. The reason for the different fate of 
these two instruments is clear ; the Declaration formulated a theory of gov- 
ernment, it created no officers, it called for no taxes, it stated in a pleasing 
form opinions common to thoughtful men in the country', it formulated a 
pleasing theory for the foundation of government. On the other hand the 
Articles attempted to provide for the administration of government, it estab- 
lished offices and it called for taxes, and necessarily provoked support and 
hostility ; for while men might agree as to the common theory of government in 
America, they speedily fell to differing about the methods of civil administration. 

The inability of the Congress of the Confederation to legislate under the 
provisions of the Articles compelled their amendment ; for while the exigencies 
of war had forced the colonies into closer union, — a " perpetual league of friend- 
ship," they had also learned additional lessons in the theory and administration 
of local government, for each of the colonies, with the exception of Connecticut 
and Rhode Island, had transformed colonial government into government under 
a constitution. The people had not looked to Congress as a central power, 
they considered it as a central committee of the States. The individualistic 
tendencies of the colonies strengthened when the colonies transformed them- 
selves into commonwealths. 

The struggle, which began between the thirteen colonies and the imperial 
Parliament, was now transformed into a struggle between two tendencies in 
America : the tendency toward sovereign commonwealths and the tendency 
toward nationality. The first commonwealth constitutions did not acknowledge 
the supreme authority of Congress ; there was yet lacking that essential bond 
between the people and their general government, the power of the general 
government to address itself directly to individuals. Interstate relations in 
1787 were scarcely more perfect than they had been fifteen years before. The 
understanding of American affairs was more common, but intimate political 
association between the commonwealths was yet unknown. The liberty of 
nationality had not yet been won. A peculiar tendency in American affairs 
from their beeinnine is seen in the succession of written constitutions, instru- 
ments peculiar to America. The commonwealths of the old Confederation 
demonstrated the necessity for a clearer definition of their relations to each 
other and of the association of the American people in nationality. 

A sense of the necessity for commercial integrit^f led to the calling of the 
Philadelphia Convention to amend the old Articles, but when the Convention 
assembled it was found that an adequate solution of the large problem ol 



STRUGGLE BETWEEN NATIONAL AND STATE GOVERNMENTS. 107 

nationality compelled the abandonment of the idea of amending the Articles 
and the formulation of a new constitution. As the Convention proceeded to 
frame the Supreme Law of the land, it moved in accord with the whole 
tendency of American affairs, establishing a National Government upon the 
representative idea, organizing a tripartite government, a Supreme Executive, 
a Supreme Legislative, and a Supreme Judiciary. 

In the organization of the legislative department the representative idea 
was expressed in the Congress ; the Upper House of which represented 
the commonwealths as corporations ; the Lower House representing the 
people as individuals. Liberty in America received a more perfect definition in 
this arrangement ; for had representation been based wholly on that which 
created the Senate or on that which created the House of Representatives, 
representation would not have been equitable. But the equities of representation 
were preserved by establishing two houses. In creating two houses, however, 
the peculiar power of the lower branch of the colonial Legislatures was con- 
tinued by giving to the national House of Representatives the sole power " to 
lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts, and excises, and to pay the debt, and 
provide for the common defense and general welfare of the United States." 
The complaint against the tea tax can never be raised against any tax levied by 
Congress, for the members of the House of Representatives are elected directly 
by the taxpayers, and the right of individual representation was forever secured. 

Not only does the National Constitution guarantee this individual immu- 
nity, — the right of representation, but it also guarantees all the civil rights now 
known to civilized society. The " rights of man " so frequently on the^ips of 
Americans of the Revolutionary period are defined in our National Constitution, 
particularly in the amendments which forever warrant to the citizens of the 
United States all that range of constitutional liberty which assures the largest 
definition of civil life. Freedom of speech and of conscience, the right of jury 
trial, exemption from unreasonable searches and seizures, the reservation to 
the people of all powers not delegated by them, the sovereignty of freedom as 
universally declared in the abolition of slavery, and the exercise of the franchise, 
show how the definition of liberty has become more and more perfect in the 
United States during the century. 

But the people who were capable of receiving a National Constitution 
like our own would not long endure the constitutions of commonwealths 
which fixed unreasonable limits on the rights of citizens. The first State consti- 
tutions were less liberal in their provisions than the National Constitution ; 
nearly all of them limited the electorate in the commonwealth to a small body 
whose holdincr of real estate and whose religious notions were in accord with 
the conserv^ative ideas of the colonial time. At the time of the making of the 
National Constitution, the property required of an elector varied in the dif- 



io8 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

ferent commonwealths. In New Jersey he must have property to the value of 
fifty pounds, in Maryland and the Carolinas an estate of fifty acres, in Delaware 
a freehold estate of known value, in Georgia an estate of ten dollars or follow 
a mechanic trade ; in New York, would he vote for a member of Assembly 
he must possess a freehold estate of twenty pounds, and if he would vote for 
State Senator, it must be a hundred. Massachusetts required an elector to 
own a freehold estate worth sixty pounds or to possess an annual income of 
three pounds. Connecticut was satisfied that his estate was of the yearly value 
of seven dollars, and Rhode Island required him to own the value of one 
hundred and thirty-four dollars in land. Pennsylvania required him to be a 
freeholder, but New Hampshire and Vermont were satisfied with the payment 
of a poll-tax. 

The number of electors was still further affected by the religious opinions 
required of them. In New Jersey, in New Hampshire, in Vermont, in Connecticut, 
and in South Carolina, no Roman Catholic could vote ; Maryland and Massa- 
chusetts allowed "those of the Christian religion" to exercise the franchise, but 
the "Christian religion" in Massachusetts was of the Congregational Church. 
North Carolina required her electors to believe in the divine authority of the 
Scriptures ; Delaware was satisfied with a belief in the Trinity and in the 
inspiration of the Bible ; Pennsylvania allowed those, otherwise qualified, to 
vote who believed " in one God, in the reward of good, and the punishment of 
evil, and in the inspiration of the Scriptures." In New York, in Virginia, in 
Georgia, and in Rhode Island, the Protestant faith was predominant, but a 
Roman Catholic, if a male resident, of the age of twenty-one years or over, 
could vote in Rhode Island. 

The property qualifications which limited the number of electors were 
higher for those who sought office. Would a man be governor of New Jersey 
or of South Carolina, his real and personal property must amount to ten thou- 
sand dollars ; in North Carolina to one thousand pounds ; in Georgia an estate 
of two hundred and fifty pounds or of two hundred and fifty acres of land ; in 
New Hamsphire of five hundred pounds ; in Maryland of ten times as much, of 
which a thousand pounds must be of land ; in Delaware he must own real 
estate ; in New York it must be worth a hundred pounds ; in Rhode Island, 
one hundred and thirty-four dollars ; and in Massachusetts a thousand pounds. 
Connecticut required her candidate for governor to be qualified as an elector, 
as did New Hampshire, Vermont, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. In all the com- 
monwealths the candidate for office must possess the religious qualifications 
required of electors. 

From these thinofs it followed that the suffrao-e in the United States was 
limited when, after the winning of American Independence, the Constitution of 
the United States was framed and the commonwealths had adopted their first 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. i09 

constitutions of government. It may be said that in 1787 the country was 
bankrupt, America was without credit, and that of a population of three million 
souls, who, by our present ratio, would represent six hundred thousand voters, 
less than one hundred and fifty thousand possessed the right to vote. African 
slavery and property qualifications excluded above four hundred thousand men 
from the exercise of the franchise. It is evident then, at the time when 
American liberty was won, American liberty had only begun ; the offices of the 
country were in the possession of the few, scarcely any provision existed for 
common education, the roads of the country may be described as impassable, 
the means for transportation, trade, and commerce were feeble. If the struggle 
for liberty in America was not to be in vain, the people of the United States 
must address themselves directly to the payment of their debts, to the enlarge- 
ment of the franchise, to improvements in transportation, and to the creation, 
organization, and support of a national system of common taxation. It is these 
great changes which constitute the history of this country during the present 
century. 

By 1830 the people had moved westward, passing over the Appalachian 
mountains whose forests had so long retarded the movements of population, 
and having reached the eastern edge of the great central prairie, they rapidly 
spread over the Northwest Territory, successively founding the five great com- 
monwealths which were created north of the river Ohio. This vast migration 
of not less than five millions of people carried westward the New England idea 
of government modified by the ideas prevailing in New Jersey, in Pennsylvania, 
and in New York. Along the highway which extends from Boston to Chicago 
sprang up a cordon of thriving towns which have since become prosperous cities. 
The school-house, the church, and the printing-press were at the foundation of 
the civil structure. 

The forests of western New York, in the first decade of the century, were 
burned in order to clear the land, and from the ashes were made the pearlash 
or " salts," which, after great labor, were delivered in Canada or at Pittsburgh, 
and the silver money in payment was returned as taxes and for payment of the 
homestead. A generation later and the pine forests of New York were no 
longer burned, but among them were built innumerable mills which speedily 
transformed them into lumber which, floated down the Genesee, found an outlet 
In the Erie Canal, and a market in New York. The great canal of 1826 be^ 
tween Albany and Buffalo brought the Northwest to the market of the Atlantic 
Seaboard, and raised the value of land, of labor, and of all productions through- 
out the northern States. 

By this time too the children of the Old Dominion had passed over the 
mountains and had located plantations in Kentucky and in Missouri, and the 
territory south of the river Ohio had become a region of prosperous communities. 



no 



SUFFRAGE QUALIFICATION. 



About the time of the building of the Erie Canal, property qualifications 
had disappeared from nearly all the American commonwealths. It was in 1829, 
in the Convention of Virginia, called to frame a new Constitution for the people 




THE STATUE OF LIBERTY IN NEW YORK HARBOR. 
{Presented to the United States by Barthotdi.) 



of that commonwealth, that one of the last debates in America discussed the 
retention of the property qualification. It was said in that Convention, by 
President Monroe, " My object is to confine the elective franchise to an interest 
in land : to some interest of moderate value in the territory of the Common- 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. "i 

wealth. What is our country ? Is it anything more than our territory ; and why 
are we attached to it ? Is it not the effect of our residence in it, either as the 
land of our nativity or the country of our choice, our adopted country ; and of 
our attachment to its institutions ? And what excites and is the best evidence of 
such attachment ? Some hold in the territory, which is some interest in the 
soil, something that we own, not as passengers or voyagers who have no prop 
erty in the State and nothing to bind them to it ; the object is to give firmness 
and permanency to our attachment, and these (the property qualification) are the 
best means by which it may be accomplished." 

The conservative opinions of the distinguished Monroe were supported 
by the Convention and the Constitution framed for Virginia at that time 
required of the elector that he should be a white male citizen of the Common- 
wealth, twenty-one years of age and upward, and possess "an estate of freehold 
in land of the value of twenty-five dollars." 

By the middle of the century public opinion had changed the provisions in 
the State Constitutions and abolished the property qualification of the elector : 
this limitation on citizenship disappeared about thirty years after the disappear- 
ance of the religious qualifications. From the introduction of government into 
the colonies these two qualifications had been intimately associated together. 

But liberty was not complete so long as the right to vote was limited to 
"free male white citizens." The history of the winning of universal suffrage is 
the history of the United States till the thirtieth of March, 1870, when the right 
of citizens of the United States to vote, a right that cannot be denied or 
abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or 
previous condition of servitude, was proclaimed in force by Hamilton Fish, 
Secretary of State in the administration of President Grant. 

With this provision inserted in the Constitution of the United States, all 
commonwealth constitutions at once, as subordinate to the Supreme Law of 
the land, were made to conform, and although the National Constitution did 
not give the right to vote, it led practically to the admission of male persons of 
any race or color or from a previous condition of servitude to the body of the 
American electorate. Universal suffrage, against which' earnest patriots like 
Monroe had at one time raised their voices, at last became the common 
condition of American political life. The struggle for liberty of 1776 was not 
ended as an effort to realize the "political rights of man " until 1870. 

Within recent years the Union has become a Union of forty-four States. The 
stream of population which has developed this Union has moved in three great 
currents. The northern current is from New England, New York, and Pennsyl- 
vania, along the line of the forty-second parallel. In the early years of the century 
this course was a convergence of smaller streams from various parts of New 
England at Albany, thence westward along the bridle path to Utica, Syracuse, 



112 WESTWARD STREAM OF POPULATION. 

Rochester, Buffalo, Erie, Cleveland, and Chicago. The " main road " from Boston 
to Chicago is the original line of this current, which by reason of the increase in 
travel and transportation has been paralleled successively by the Erie Canal, by 
sail-boat and steam-boat lines on the Great Lakes, and later by several railroad 
lines ; the New York Central, the West Shore, the Lake Shore and Michigan 
Southern, the Canada Southern, and their connecting lines at Chicago, with the 
Trunk lines of the Northwest, have given to the entire northern half of the 
United States a uniform and distinct character in their customs and laws. The 
width of this northern stream is plainly marked by the northern boundary of the 
United States, and by the varying line of settlements on the southern edge, of 
which the principal are from Trenton, New Jersey, to Franklin in Pennsylvania ; 
Columbus, Ohio ; Indianapolis, Indiana ; Springfield, Illinois ; the southern 
boundary of Iowa, Kansas City, and thence westward in scattered settlements, 
including a portion of northern California, northern Oregon, and northern 
Washington. All the States within this area have been settled by people from 
the older eastern States, especially from New England, New York, Pennsyl- 
vania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. 

The second current of population, which may be called the Virginia 
current, moved westward and southwestward over the area extending from 
the Potomac river and the northern boundary of North Carolina on the east, 
and widening as it coursed westward to the Ohio river on the north, including 
the State of Missouri, the southern portion of Kansas and Colorado, and thence 
to the Pacific, excluding the greater part of northern California. The southern 
boundary of this stream extended from the Carolinas southwestward, but in- 
cluded the greater part of Georgia, Alabama, and the States and Territories 
directly west of the eighty-third meridian (Pittsburg) and from the thirty-first 
to the forty-first parallel. Within this area the States as settled have con- 
tributed to the population of the States immediately west of them, imparting 
uniformity to the government and institutions of the States and Territories 
within this zone of settlements. 

The third and more recent line of movement has been along the Atlantic 
seaboard, beginning at various ports on that hne, but especially at ports re- 
ceiving large numbers of immigrants ; continuing from town to town along that 
line from Portland Maine, to New Orleans and the eastern towns of Florida, 
and also Galveston and Austin, Texas, and thence westward into the Territories 
of New Mexico and Arizona, into southern California, and thence northwest 
ward into Oreeon, Washingfton and Montana. This line of the movement of 
population has been marked since 1865 and has been Intensified and widened 
by the rapid construction of railroads. 

Along the northern or New England line of settlements have also moved 
the millions of immigrants from European countries in the corresponding latitude: 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. "3 

from Germany, from Scandinavia, from Austria, from Russia, and from the 
British Isles. Along the middle or Virginia line moved a native population, 
chiefly from the older southern States, which spent its force at the foot of the 
eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. The Virginia stream has been second 
in size to that of New England. The recent coast stream has combined 
Northern and Southern and foreign elements, and reaching Washington 
and Montana by a backward flow, it presents for the first time in our national 
history a meeting of northern and of southern elements north of the latitude 
of Kansas. 

With the westward movements of the millions of human beings who have 
occupied the North American continent have gone the institutions and constitu- 
tions of the east, modified in their journey westward by the varying conditions 
of the life of the people. The brief constitutions of 1776 have developed into 
extraordinary length by successive changes and additions made by the more than 
seventy Constitutional Conventions which have been held west of the original 
thirteen States. These later constitutions resemble elaborate legal codes rather 
than brief statements of the fundamental ideas of government. But these 
constitutions, of which those of the Dakotas and of Montana and Washingrton 
are a type, express very clearly the opinions of the American people in govern- 
ment at the present time. The earnest desire shown in them for an accurate 
definition of the theory and the administration of government proves how 
anxiously the people of this country at all times consider the interpretation of 
their liberties, and with what hesitation, it may be said, they delegate their 
powers in government to Legislatures, to Judges, and to Governors. 

The struggle for liberty will never cease, for with the progress of civilization 
new definitions of the wants of the people are constantly forming in the mind. 
The whole movement of the American people in government, from the simple 
beginnings of representative government in Virginia, when the little Parliament 
was calle4, to the present time, when nationality is enthroned and mighty Com- 
monwealths are become the component parts of the "more perfect union," has 
been toward the slow but constant realization of the rights and liberties of the 
people. Education, for which no Commonwealth made adequate provision a 
century ago, is now the first care of the State. Easy and rapid transportation, 
wholly unknown to our fathers, is now a necessary condition of daily life. 
Trade has so prospered that "in the year 1891 the loan and trust corApanies, 
the State savings and private banks loaned in personal securities alone two bill, 
ions and sixty millions of dollars," and the accumulated wealth of the country is 
sixty billions of dollars. Newspapers, magazines, books and pamphlets are 
now so numerous as to make it impossible to contain them all in one library, 
and the American people have become the largest class of readers in the world. 

A century ago there were but six cities of more than eight thousand 
8 



114 



MATERIAL GROWTH. 



people in this country ; the number is now four hundred and forty-three. Three 
millions of people have become seventy millions. The area of the original 
United States has expanded from eight hundred and thirty thousand square 
miles to four times that area. With expansion and growth and the ameliora- 
tion in the conditions of life, the earnest problems of government have been 
brought home to the people by the leaders in the State, by the clergy, by the 
teachers in schools and colleges, and by the press. 

But though we may be proud of these conquests, we are compelled in our 
last analysis of our institutions to return to a few fundamental notions of our 
government. We must continue the representative idea based upon the doc- 
trine of the equality of rights and exercised by representative assemblies 
founded on popular elections ; and after our most pleasing contemplation of the 
institutions of America, we must return to the people, the foundation of our 
government. Their wisdom and self-control, and these alone, will impart to our 
institutions that strength which insures their perpetuity. 

Francis Nfwton Thorpe- 




A PALM GROVE IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 




CHAPTER VI. 

THE SECOND WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE, OR THE "WAR 

OE 1812. 

Y their first war with Great Britain our forefathers asserted and 
maintained their right to independent national existence; by 
their second war with Great Britain, they claimed and obtained 
equal consideration in international affairs. The War of i8ia 
was not based on a single cause ; it was rather undertaken from 
mixed motives, — partly political, partly commercial, partly pa- 
triotic. It was always unpopular with a great number of the 
American people ; it was far from logical in some of its posi- 
tions ; it was perhaps precipitated by party clamor. But, despite all these facts, 
it remains true that this war established once for all the position of the United 
States as an equal power among the powers. Above all — clearing away the 
petty political and partisan aspects of the struggle — we find that in it the United 
States stood for a strong, sound, and universally beneficial principle — that of the 
rights of neutral nations in time of war. "Free ships make free goods" is a 
maxim of international law now universally recognized, but at the opening of the 
century it was a theory, supported, indeed, by good reasoning, but practically 
disregarded by the most powerful nations. It was almost solely to the stand taken 
by the United States in 1812 that the final settlement of the disputed principle 
was due. 

The cause of the War of 181 2 which appealed most strongly to the patriotic 
feelings of the common people, though, perhaps, not in itself so intrinsically im- 
portant as that just referred to, was unquestionably the impressment by Great 
Britain of sailors from American ships. No doubt great numbers of English 
sailors did desert from their naval vessels and take refuge in the easier service 
and better treatment of the American merchant ships. Great Britain was strain- 
ing every nerve to strengthen her already powerful navy, and the press-gang 
was constantly at work in English sea-ports. Once on board a British man-of- 
war, the impressed sailor was subject to overwork, bad rations, and the lash. 
That British sailors fought as gallantly as they did under this regime will always 
remain a wonder. But it is certain that they deserted in considerable numbers 

"5 



ii6 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

and that they found in the rapidly-growing commercial prosperity of our carry- 
ing trade a tempting chance of employment. Now, Great Britain, with a large 
contempt for the naval weakness of the United States, assumed, rather than 
claimed, the right to stop our merchant vessels on the high seas, to examine the 
crews, and to claim as her own any British sailors among them. This was bad 
enough in itself, but the way in which the search was carried out was worse. 
Every form of insolence and overbearing was exhibited. The pretense of claim 
ingf British deserters covered what was sometimes barefaced and outrageous 
kidnaping of Americans. The British officers went so far as to lay the burden of 
proof of nationality in each case upon the sailor himself; if he were without 
papers proving his identity he was at once assumed to be a British subject. To 
such an extent was this insult to our flag carried that our Government had the 
record of about forty-five hundred cases of impressment from our ships between 
the years of 1803 and 18 10; and when the War of 181 2 broke out the number 
of American sailors serving against their will in British war vessels was variously 
computed to be from six to fourteen thousand. It is even recorded that in some 
cases American ships were obliged to return home in the middle of their voyages 
because their crews had been so diminished in number by the seizures made by 
British officers that they were too short-handed to proceed. In not a few cases 
these depredations led to bloodshed. The greatest outrage of all, and one which 
stirred the blood of Americans to the fighting point, was the capture of an Ameri- 
can war vessel, the "Chesapeake," by the British man-of-war, the "Leopard." 
The latter was by far the more powerful vessel, and the "Chesapeake" was quite 
unprepared for action ; nevertheless, her commander refused to accede to a 
demand that his crew be overhauled in search for British deserters. Thereupon 
the "Leopard" poured broadside after broadside into her until the flag was 
struck. Three Americans were killed and eighteen wounded ; four were taken 
away as alleged deserters ; of these, three were afterwards returned, while in 
one case the charge was satisfactorily proved and the man was hanged. The 
whole affair was without the slightest justification under the law of nations and 
was in itself ample ground for war. Great Britain, however, in a q.uite ungrace- 
ful and tardy way, apologized and offered reparation. This incident took place 
si.x years before the actual declaration of war. But the outrage rankled all that 
time, and nothing did more to fan the anti-British feeling which was already so 
strong in the rank and file, especially in the Democratic (or, as it was often called 
then, Republican) party. It was such deeds as this that led Henry Clay to 
exclaim, "Not content with seizing upon all our property which falls within 
her rapacious grasp, the personal rights of our countrymen — rights which must 
forever be sacred — are trampled on and violated by the impressment of our 
seamen. What are we to gain by war? What are we not to lose by peace .■* 
Commerce, character, a nation's best treasure, honor ! " 




"DON'T GIVE UP THE SHIP' 

These were ihe lasi words .pf Captain James Lawrence, who was mortally wounded in theeneagemeiU between the 

American ship Chesapeake^ and the British ship Shannon, War of 1812. 



"PAPER BLOCKADES." 



117 



The attack on American commerce was also a serious danger to peace. In 
the early years of the century Great Britain was at war not only with France, 
but with other European countries. Both Great Britain and France adopted in 
practice the most extreme theories of non-intercourse between neutral and 
hostile nations. It was the era of "paper blockades." In 1806 England, for 
instance, declared that eight hundred miles of the European coast were to be 




VIEW OF .\ COTTON-CHUTE. 



considered blockaded, whereupon Napoleon, not to be outdone, declared the 
entire Islands of Great Britain to be under blockade. Up to a certain point the 
interruption of the neutral trade relations between the countries of Europe was 
to the commercial advantage of America. Our carrying trade grew and pros- 
pered wonderfully. Much of this trade consisted in taking goods from the colo- 
nies of European nations, bringing them to the United States, then trans-ship- 
pino- them and conveying them to the parent nation. This was allowable under 



li8 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

the international law of the time, although the direct carrying of goods by the 
neutral ship from the colony to the parent nation (the latter, of course, being at 
war) was forbidden. But by her famous " Orders in Council " Great Britain ab- 
solutely forbade this system of trans-shipment as to nations with whom she was 
at war. American vessels engaged in this form of trade were seized and con- 
demned by English prize cojrts. Naturally, France followed Great Britain's 
example and even went further. Our merchants, who had actually been earning 
'double freights under the old system, now found that their commerce was wofully 
restricted. At first it was thought that the unfair restriction might be punished 
by retaliatory measures, and a quite illogical analogy was drawn from the effect 
produced on Great Britain before the Revolution by the refusal of the colonies 
to receive goods on which a tax had been imposed. So President Jefferson's 
Administration resorted to the most unwise measure that could be thought of — 
an absolute embargo on our own ships. This measure was passed in 1807, and 
its immediate result was to reduce the exports of the country from nearly fifty 
million dollars' worth to nine million dollars' worth in a single year. This was 
evidently anything but profitable, and the act was changed so as to forbid only 
commercial intercourse with Great Britain and France and their colonies, with a 
proviso that the law should be abandoned as regards either of these countries 
which should repeal its objectionable decrees. The French Government moved 
in the matter first, but only conditionally. Our non-intercourse act, however, 
was after 18 10 in force only against Great Britain. That our claims of wrong 
were equally or nearly equally as great against France in this matter cannot be 
doubted. But the popular feeling was stronger against Great Britain ; a war 
with England was popular with the mass of the Democrats ; and it was the 
refusal of England to finally accept our conditions which led to the declaration 
of war. By a curious chain of circumstances it happened, however, that between 
the time when Congress declared war (June 18, 181 2) and the date when the 
news of this declaration was received in England, the latter country had already 
revoked her famous "orders in council." In point of fact, President Madison 
was very reluctant to declare war, though the ' Federalists always took great 
pleasure in speaking of this as " Mr. Madison's war." The Federalists through- 
out considered the war unnecessary and the result of partisan feeling and un- 
reasonable prejudice. 

It is peculiarly grateful to American pride that this war, undertaken in 
defense of our maritime interests and to uphold the honor of our flag upon 
the high seas, resulted in a series of naval victories brilliant in the extreme. It 
was not, indeed, at first thought that this would be chiefly a naval war. Presi- 
dent Madison was at one time greatly inclined to keep stricdy in port our war 
vessels ; but, happily, other counsels prevailed. The disparity between the Amer- 
ican and British navies was certainly disheartening. The United States had 



OUR NAVAL GLORY LN THLS WAR. 



119 



seven or eight frigates and a few sloops, brigs, and gunboats, while the sails of 
England's navy whitened every sea, and her ships certainly outnumbered ours 
by fifty to one. On the other hand, her hands were tied to a great extent by the 
European wars of magnitude in which she was involved. She had to defend her 
commerce from formidable enemies in many seas, and could give but a small 
part of her naval strength to the new foe. That this new foe was despised by 




LOADING A COTTON STEAMER. 



the great power which claimed, not without reason, to be the mistress of the seas 
was not unnatural. But soon we find a lament raised in Parliament about the 
reverses, " which English officers and English sailors had not before been used 
to, and that from such a contemptible navy as that of America had always been 
held." The fact is that the restriction of our commerce had made it possible for 
our navy officers to take their pick of a remarkably fine body of native American 
seamen, naturally brave and intelligent, and thoroughly well trained in all sea- 



I20 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

manlike experiences. These men were in many instances filled with a spirit of 
resentment at British insolence, having either themselves been the victims of the 
aggressions which we have described, or having seen their friends compelled to- 
submit to these insolent acts. The very smallness of our navy, too, was in a 
measure its strength ; the competition for active service among those bearing 
commissions was great, and there was never any trouble in finding officers of 
proved sagacity and courage. 

At the outset, however, the policy determined on by the Administration was 
not one of naval aggression. It was decided to attack England from her 
Canadian colonies. This plan of campaign, however reasonable it might seem 
to a strategist, failed wretchedly in execution. The first year of the war, so far 
as regards the land campaigns, showed nothing but reverses and fiascoes. 
There was a long and thinly settled border country, in which our slender forces 
struggled to hold their own against the barbarous Indian onslaughts, making 
futile expeditions across the border into Canada and resisting with some success 
the similar expeditions by the Canadian troops. It was one of the complaints 
which led to the war that the Indian tribes had been incited against our settlers 
by the Canadian authorities and had been promised aid from Canada. It is 
certain that after war was declared English officers not only employed Indians as 
their allies, but in some instances, at least, paid bounties for the scalps of 
American setders. The Indian war planned by Tecumseh had just been put 
down by General, afterward President, Harrison. No doubt Tecumseh was a 
man of more elevated ambition and more humane instincts than one often finds in 
an Indian chief His hope to unite the tribes and to drive the whites out of his 
country has a certain nobility of purpose and breadth of view. But this scheme 
had failed, and the Indian warriors, still inflamed for war, were only too eager to 
assist the Canadian forces in a desultory but bloody border war. The strength 
of our campaign against Canada was dissipated in an attempt to hold Fort 
Wayne, Fort Harrison, and other garrisons against Indian attacks. Still more 
disappointing was the complete failure of the attempt, under the command of 
General Hull, to advance from Detroit as an outpost, into Canada. He was 
easily driven back to Detroit, and when the nation was confidently waiting to 
hear of a bold defense of that place it was startled by the news of Hull's surrender 
without firing a gun, and under circumstances which seemed to indicate either 
cowardice or treachery. Hull was, in fact, court-martialed, condemned to death, 
and only pardoned on account of his services in the war of 1776. 

The mortification that followed the land campaign of 181 2 was forgotten in 
joy at the splendid naval victories of that year. Pre-eminent among these was- 
the famous sea-duel between the frigates " Constitution " and " Guerriere." 
Every one knows of the glory of " Old Ironsides," and this, though the greatest, 
was only one of many victories by which the name of the " Constitution " 



THE "CONSTITUTION" AND THE "GUERRIERE." 



i2r 



became the most famed and beloved of all that have been associated with Amer- 
ican ships. She was a fine frigate, carrying forty-four guns, and though English 
journals had ridiculed her as " a bunch 

of pine boards under a bit of striped ,,„.-jKsife 

bunting," it was not long before they i*t^ 

were busily engaged in trying to prove || 1^ 

that she was too large a vessel to be prop- 
erly called a frigate, and that she greatly 
out-classed her opponent in metal and 



im 




339 



BURNING OF WASHINGTON. 

men. It is true that the 
" Constitution " carried six 
more guns and a few more 
men than the " Guerriere," 
but, all allowances being 
made, her victory was yet 
a naval triumph of the first 
magnitude. Captain Isaac 
Hull, who commanded her, 
had just before the engage- 
ment proved his superior 



seamanship by escaping from a whole squadron of British vessels, out-sailing 
and out-manceuvring them at every point. It was on August 19 when he 



122 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

descried the " Guerriere." Both vessels at once cleared for action and 
came together with the greatest eagerness on both sides for the engagement. 
Though the battle lasted but half an hour, it was one of the hottest in naval 
annals. At one time the " Constitution " was on fire, and both ships were soon 
seriously crippled by injury to their spars. Attempts to board each other were 
thwarted on both sides by the close fire of small arms. Here, as in later sea- 
fights of this war, the accuracy and skill of the American gunners were some- 
thing marvelous. At the end of half an hour the " Guerriere " had lost both 
mainmast and foremast and floated helplessly in the open sea. Her surrender 
was no discredit to her officers, as she was almost in a sinking condition. It was 
hopeless to attempt to tow her into port, and Captain Hull transferred his 
prisoners to his own vessel and set fire to his prize. In the fight the American 
frigate had only seven men killed and an equal number wounded, while the 
British vessel had as many as seventy-nine men killed or wounded. The con- 
duct of the American seamen was throughout gallant in the highest degree. 
Captain Hull put it on record that " From the smallest boy in the ship to the 
oldest seaman not a look of fear was seen. They all went into action giving 
three cheers and requesting to be laid close alongside the enemy." The effect 
of this victory in both America and England was extraordinary. English papers 
long refused to believe in the possibility of the well-proved facts, while in America 
the whole country joined in a triumphal shout of joy, and loaded well-deserved 
honors on vessel, captain, officers, and men. 

The chagrin of the English public at the unexpected result of this sea battle 
was changed to amazement when one after another there followed no less than 
six combats of the same duel-like character, in which the American vessels were 
invariably victorious. The first was between our sloop, the "Wasp," and the 
English brig, the " Frolic," which was convoying a fleet of merchantmen. The 
fight was one of the most desperate in the war ; the two ships were brought so 
close together that their gunners could touch the sides of the opposing vessels 
with their rammers. Broadside after broadside was poured into the " Frolic " by 
the " Wasp," which obtained the superior position, but her sailors, unable to 
await the victory which was sure to come from the continued raking of the 
enemy's vessel, rushed upon her decks without orders and soon overpowered 
her. Again the British loss in killed and wounded was large ; that of the Ameri. 
cans very small. It in no wise detracted from the glory of this victory that both 
victor and prize were soon captured by a British man-of-war of immensely supe- 
rior strength. Following this action, Commodore Stephen Decatur, in our frigate, 
the " United States," attacked the "Macedonian," a British vessel of the same kind, 
and easily defeated her, bringing her into New York harbor on New Year's Day, 
1 813, where he received an ovation equal to that offered Captain Hull. The 
same result followed the attack of the " Consdtution," now under the command 



OTHER SEA-DUELS. 



123 



of Commodore Bain- 
"Java;" the latter had her 
about one hundred wound- 
that it was decided to blow 
tion" suffered so Httle that 
Ironsides," a name now 
been in every school-boy's 
resulted, in the great ma- 
jority of cases in the same 
way — in all unstinted 
praise was awarded by the 



bridge, upon the English 
captain and fifty men killed and 
ed, and was left such a wreck 
her up, while the " Constitu- 
she was in sport dubbed " Old 
ennobled by a poem which has 
moiith. Other naval combats 




whole world, even including 
England herself, to the admira- 
ble seamanship, the wonderful 
gunnery, and the constant per- 
sonal intrepitude of our naval 
forces. When the second year 
of the war closed our little navy 



124 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

had captured twenty-six war-ships, armed with 560 guns, while it had lost only 
seven ships, carrjqng 1 19 guns. 

But, if the highest honors of the war were thus won by our navy, the 
most serious injury materially to Great Britain was in the devastation of her 
commerce by American privateers. No less than two hundred and fifty 
of these sea guerrillas were afloat, and in the first year of the war they 
captured over three hundred merchant vessels, .sometimes even attacking 
and overcoming the smaller class of war-ships. The privateers were usually 
schooners armed with a few small guns, but carrying one long cannon 
mounted on a swivel so that it could be turned to any point of the horizon, 
and familiarly known as Long Tom. Of course, the crews were influenced 
by greed as well as by patriotism. Privateering is a somewhat doubtful 
mode of warfare at the best ; but international law permits it ; and though 
it is hard to dissociate from it a certain odor, as of legalized piracy, it is 
legitimate to this day. And surely if it were ever justifiable it was at that 
time. As Jefferson said, there were then tens of thousands of seamen 
forced by war from their natural means of support and useless to their 
country in any other way, while by " licensing private armed vessels the whole 
naval force of the nation was truly brought to bear on the foe." The havoc 
wrought on British trade was widespread indeed ; altogether between fifteen 
hundred and two thousand prizes were taken by the privateers. To compute 
the value of these prizes is impossible, but some idea may be gained from 
the single fact that one privateer, the " Yankee," in a cruise of less than 
two months captured five brigs and four schooners with cargoes valued at 
over half a million dollars. The men engaged in this form of warfare were 
bold to recklessness, and their exploits have furnished many a tale to Ameri- 
can writers of romance. 

The naval combats thus far mentioned were almost always of single vessels. 
For battles of fleets we must turn from the salt water to the fresh, from the 
ocean to the great lakes. The control of the waters of Lake Erie, Lake Onta- 
rio, and Lake Champlain was obviously of vast importance, in view of the con- 
tinued land-fighting in the West and of the attempted invasion of Canada and 
the threatened counter-invasions. The British had the great advantage of being 
able to reach the lakes by the St. Lawrence, while our lake navies had to be con- 
structed after the war began. One such little navy had been built at Presque 
Isle, now Erie, on Lake, Erie. It comprised two brigs of twenty guns and sev- 
eral schooners and gunboats. It must be remembered that everything but the 
lumber needed for the vessels had to be brought through the forests by land 
from the eastern seaports, and the mere problem of transportation was a serious 
one. When finished, the fleet was put in command of Oliver Hazard Perry, 
Watching his time (and, it is said, taking advantage of the carelessness of the 



I 



I 




Ilr..iv.i by H. A. (Jgdrii. 

BATTLE OF RESACA DE LA PALMA, MAY 9, 1846 
(General Zacbarv Taylor, with an army of 2,000 men. defeated liie Mexican General Arista, with 5,0t)0 men. 



PERRY'S GREAT VICTORY. 



125 



British commander in going on shore to dinner one Sunday, when he should 
have been watching Perry's movements), the American commander drew his 
fleet over the bar which had protected it while in harbor from the onslaughts of 
the British fleet. To get the brigs over this bar was a work of time and great 
difficulty; an attack at that hour by the British would certainly have ended in 
the total destruction of the fleet. Once accomplished, Perry, in his flagship, the 
" Lawrence," headed a fleet of ten vessels, fifty-five guns, and four hundred men. 
Opposed to him was Captain Barclay .with six ships, sixty-five guns, and also 




VIEW ON LAKE ONTARIO. 



about four hundred men. The British for several weeks avoided the conflict, 
but in the end were cornered and forced to fight. It was at the beginning of 
this battle that Perry displayed the flag bearing Lawrence's famous dying 
words, " Don't give up the ship ! " No less famous is his dispatch announcing 
the result in the words, "We have met the enemy and they are ours." The 
victory was indeed a complete and decisive one ; all six of the enemy's ships 
were captured, and their loss was nearly double that of Perry's forces. The 
complete control of Lake Erie was assured ; that of Lake Ontario had already 
been gained by Commodore Chauncey. 



126 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

Perry's memorable victory opened the way for important land operations by 
General Harrison, who now marched from Detroit with the design of invading 
Canada. He engaged with Proctor's mingled body of British troops and Indians, 
and by the Battle of the Thames drove back the British from that part of Canada 
and restored matters to the position in which they stood before Hull's deplorable 
surrender of Detroit — and, indeed, of all Michigan — to the British. In this battle 
of the Thames the Indian chief, Tecumseh, fell, and about three hundred of the 
British and Indians were killed on the field. The hold of our enemies on the 
Indian tribes was greatly broken by this defeat. Previous to this the land cam- 
paigns had been marked by a succession of minor victories and defeats. In the 
West a force of Americans under General Winchester had been captured at the 
River Raisin ; and there took place an atrocious massacre of large numbers of 
prisoners by the Indians, who were quite beyond restraint from their white allies. 
On the other hand, the Americans had captured the city of York, now Toronto, 
though at the cost of their leader, General Pike, who, with two hundred of his 
men, was destroyed by the explosion of a magazine. Fort George had also been 
captured by the Americans and an attack on Sackett's Harbor had been gal- 
lantly repulsed. Following the battle of the Thames, extensive operations of 
an aggressive kind had been planned looking toward the capture of Montreal 
and the invasion of Canada by way of Lakes Ontario and Champlain. Un- 
happily, jealousy between the American Generals Wilkinson and Hampton 
resulted in a lack of concert in their military operations, and the expedition 
was a complete fiasco. 

One turns for consolation from the mortifying record of Wilkinson's ex- 
pedition to the story of the continuous successes which had accompanied the 
naval operations of 1813. Captain Lawrence, in the "Hornet," won a complete 
victory over the English brig " Peacock ;" our brig, the " Enterprise," captured the 
"Boxer," and other equally welcome victories were reported. One distinct 
defeat had marred the record — that of our fine brig, the "Chesapeake," com- 
manded by Captain Lawrence, which had been captured after one of the most 
hard-fought contests of the war by the British brig, the " Shannon." Lawrence 
himself fell mortally wounded, exclaiming as he was carried away, "Tell the men 
not to give up the ship but fight her till she sinks." It was a paraphrase of this 
exclamation which Perry used as a rallymg signal in the battle on Lake Erie, 
Despite his one defeat. Captain Lawrence's fame as a gallant seaman and high- 
minded patriot was untarnished, and his death was more deplored throughout 
the country than was the loss of his ship. 

In the latter part of the war England was enabled to send large reinforce- 
ments both to her army and navy engaged in the American campaigns. Events 
in Europe seemed in 18 14 to insure peace for at least a time. Napoleon's power 
was broken ; the Emperor himself was exiled at Elba ; and Great Britain at last 



LUNDY'S LANE AND PLATTSBURG. 



127 



had her hands free. But before the reinforcements reached this country, our 
army had won greater credit and had shown more military skill by far than were 
evinced in its earlier operations. Along the line of the Niagara River active 




WEATHERSFORD AND GENERAL JACKSON. 



fighting had been going on. In the battle of Chippewa, the capture of Fort Erie, 
the engagement at Lundy's Lane, and the defense of Fort Erie the troops, under 
the command of Winfield Scott and General Brown, had held their own, and more, 
against superior forces, and had won from British officers the admission that they 



128 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

fought as well under fire as regular troops. More encouraging still was the 
total defeat of the plan of invasion from Canada undertaken by the now greatly 
strengthened British forces. These numbered twelve thousand men and were 
supported by a fleet on Lake Champlain. Their operations were directed against 
Plattsburg, and in the battle on the lake, usually called by the name of that town, 
the American flotilla under the command of Commodore Macdonough completely 
routed the British fleet. As a result the English army also beat a rapid and 
undignified retreat to Canada. This was the last important engagement to take 
place in the North. 

Meanwhile expeditions of considerable size were directed by the British 
against our principal Southern cities. One of these brought General Ross with 
five thousand men, chiefly the pick of the Duke of Wellington's army, into the 
Bay of Chesapeake. Nothing was more discreditable in the military strategy of 
our Administration than the fact that at this time Washington was left unprotected, 
though in evident danger. General Ross marched straight upon the Capital, 
easily defeated at Bladensburg an inferior force of raw militia — who yet fought 
with intrepidit}^ for the most part — seized the city, and carried out his intention of 
destroying the public buildings and a great part of the town. Most of the public 
archives had been removed. Ross' conduct in the burning of Washington was 
probably within the limits of legitimate warfare but has been condemned as semi- 
barbarous by many writers. The achievement gave great joy to the English 
papers, but was really of less importance than was supposed. Washington at 
that time was a straggling town of only eight thousand inhabitants ; its public 
buildings were not at all adequate to the demands of the future ; and an optimist 
might even consider the destruction of the old city as a public benefit, for it 
enabled Congress to adopt the plans which have since led to the making of 
perhaps the most beautiful city of the country. 

A similar attempt upon Baltimore was less successful. The people of that 
city made a brave defense and hastily threw up extensive fortifications. In the 
end the British fleet, after a severe bombardment of Fort McHenry, were driven 
off. The British Admiral had boasted that Fort McHenry would yield in a few 
hours ; and two days after, when its flag was still flying, Francis S. Key was in- 
spired by its sight to compose the "Star Spangled Banner." 

A still larger expedition of British troops landed on the Louisiana coast 
and marched to the attack of New Orleans. Here General Andrew Jackson 
was in command. He had already distinguished himself in this war by putting 
down with a strong hand the hostile Creek Indians of the then Spanish territory 
of Florida, who had been incited by English envoys to warfare against our 
Southern settlers; and in April, 1814, William Weathersford, the half-breed 
chief, had surrendered in person to Jackson (see illustration). General 
Packenham, who commanded the five thousand British soldiers sent against 



THE HARTFORD CONVENTION. 120 

New Orleans, expected as easy a victory as that of General Ross at Washington, 
But Jackson had summoned to his aid the stalwart frontiersmen of Kentucky 
and Tennessee — men used from boyhood to the rifle, and who made up 
what was in effect a splendid force of sharp-shooters. Both armies threw up 
rough fortifications ; General Jackson madp great use for that purpose of cotton 
bales, Packenham employing the still less solid material of sugar barrels. 
Oddly enough, the final battle, and really the most important of the war, took 
place after the treaty of peace between the two countries had already been 
signed. The British were repulsed again and again in persistent and gallant 
attacks on our fortifications. General Packenham himself was killed, together 
with many officers and seven hundred of his men. One British officer pushed to 
the top of our earthworks and demanded their surrender, whereupon he was 
smilingly asked to look behind him, and turning saw, as he afterward said, that 
the men he supposed to be supporting him " had vanished as if the earth had 
swallowed them up." The American losses were inconsiderable. 

The treaty of peace, signed at Ghent, December 24, 18 14, has been ridiculed 
because it contained no positive agreement as to many of the questions in dis- 
pute. Not a word did it say about the impressment of American sailors or the 
rights of neutral ships. Its chief stipulations were the mutual restoration of ter- 
ritory and the appointing of a commission to determine our northern boundary 
line. The truth is that both nations were tired of the war; the circumstances 
that had led to Ensfland's asfgfressions no lonofer existed ; both countries were 
suffering enormous commercial loss to no avail ; and, above all, the United States 
had emphatically justified by its deeds its claim to an equal place in the council 
of nations. Politically and materially, further warfare was illogical. If the two 
nations had understood each other better in the first place ; if Great Britain had 
treated our demands with courtesy and justice instead of insolence ; if, in short, 
international comit)' had taken the place of international ill-temper, the war might 
have been avoided altogether. Its undoubted benefits to us were incidental 
rather than direct. But though not formally recognized by treaty, the rights of 
American seamen and of American ships were in fact no longer infringed upon 
by Great Britain. 

One political outcome of the war must not be overlooked. The New Eng- 
land Federalists had opposed it from the beginning, had naturally fretted at their 
loss of commerce^ and had bitterly upbraided the Democratic administration for 
currying popularity by a war carried on mainly at New England's expense. 
When in the latter days of the war New England ports were closed, Stonington 
bombarded, Castine in Maine seized, and serious depredations threatened every- 
where along the northeastern coast, the Federalists complained that the adminis- 
tration taxed them for the war but did not protect them. The outcome of all 
this discontent was the Hartford Convention. In point of fact it was a quite 
9 



I30 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



harmless conference which proposed some constitutional amendments, protested 
against too great centralization of power, and urged the desirability of peace with 
honor. But the most absurd rumors were prevalent about its intentions ; a regi- 
ment of troops was actually sent to Hartford to anticipate treasonable outbreaks ; 
and for many years good Democrats religiously believed that there had been a 
plot to set up a monarchy in New England with the Duke of Kent as king. 
Harmless as it was, the Hartford Convention proved the death of the Federalist 
party. Its mild debates were distorted into secret conclaves plotting treason, 
and, though the news of peace followed close upon it, the Convention was long 
an object of opprobrium and a political bugbear. 



I 




A I'LANTtR S HOUSE IN GEORGIA. 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE STORY OK THE CIVIL WAR. 




IT would be a mistake to suppose 
that secession sentiments originated 
and were exclusively maintained in 
the Southern States. Ideas of State 
sovereignty and of the consequent 
right of a State to withdraw from the 
Union, or at least to resist the acts 
and laws of Congress on adequate 
occasion, were held by many states- 
men in the North as well as in the 
South. Thus the " Essex Junto," 
which had openly advocated a dis- 
solution of the Union and the for- 
mation of an Eastern Confederacy, 
were foremost in assembling a con- 
vention of the Federalists on De- 
cember 15, 1 81 4, at Hartford, Con- 
necticut, at which resolutions were passed recommending the State Legislatures 
to resist Congress in conscripting soldiers for carrying on the war then being 
waged against England. Threats of disunion were again heard in 182 1, but 
this time from the South, in case Missouri should be denied admission to the 
Union on account of her unwillingness to surrender the institution of slavery. 
Once more, in 1832, a South Carolina convention proceeded to declare the 
tariff of the United States null and void within her own borders ; but, owing to 
the decisive action of President Jackson, the State authorities did not venture 
into an actual collision with Congress. 

But the agitation in favor of disunion reached culmination under the 
aggressive efforts by the South to extend slavery into new Territories, and 
the determination by the North to confine it strictly within the States where it 
already existed. With the formation of anti-slavery societies in the North, the 

131 



A SKIRMISHER. 



132 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



nomination of anti-slavery candidates for the Presidency from 1840 onward, the 
passage of the "Wilmot Proviso" in 1846, the repeal of the Missouri compromise 
in 1854, the Dred-Scott decision by the United States Supreme Court in 1857, the 
adoption of the Lecompton Constitution in Kansas in 1859, and the raid by John 
Brown at Harper's Ferry in 1859, it became painfully evident that Mr. Seward's 
prediction of an "irrepressible conflict" between the North and South on the 
subject of slavery was becoming, had already become, a reality. 

As to John Brown's raid we liave only to recount that on the i6th of Octo- 
ber, 1859, he took an armed force to Harper's Ferry, capturing the arsenal and 
armory and killing the men on guard. He was then endeavoring to secure 
arms for operating against the South. He was, however, captured and executed 
December 2, 1859. The expedition, it is unnecessary to say, was foolhardy 
and wholly without justification, and Brown paid for his misguided zeal with 
his life. But it must be said of him that he was conscientious, and that by 
his reckless daring he helped to crystallize sentiment on both sides of the 
slavery question. 

The election in i860 of Abraham Lincoln as President, on the platform of 
resistance to all further extension of slavery, was the signal for the previous 
disunion oratory and menaces to crystallize themselves into action. Seven 
States, in the following order, viz. : South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, 
Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas, seceded, and by a Congress held at 
Montgomery, Ala., February 4, 1861, formed a Confederacy with* Jefferson Davis, 
of Mississippi, as President, and Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, as Vice- 
President. 

The reasons avowed for this perilous course were, "the refusal of fifteen 
of the States for years past to fulfill their constitutional obligations, and the 
election of a man to the high office of President of the United States whose 
opinions and purposes are hostile to slavery." 

After Mr. Lincoln's inauguration on March 4, 1861, the Confederacy was 
increased by the addition of Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina, and Tennessee ; 
Kentucky and Missouri, being divided in opinion, had representatives and armies 
in both sections. 

The eleven "Confederate States of America" took from the Union nearly 
one-half of its inhabited area, and a population of between five and six millions 
of whites and about four millions of slaves. Their entire force capable of 
active service numbered 600,000 men. The twenty-four States remaining loyal 
to the Union had a population of 20,000,000, and the army at the close of the 
war numbered 1,050,000 ; but as the majority of these were scattered on guard 
duty over a vast region, only 262,000 were in fighting activity. Whilst the North 
was more rich and powerful, it was, nevertheless, more inclined to peace. The 
South was of a military spirit, accustomed to weapons, and altogether eager for 




Drawn bv J. Sieepie Davis. 

GENERAL LEE'S INVASION OF THE NORTH 

General Lee's first invasion was brought to a disastrous end by the Battle of Anlietam. September 17, 1862. The 
second invasion ended with greater disaster at Gettysburg, July 1-3, 18ti3. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



133 



the fray. The soldiers of both sides were 
equally brave, resolute, heroic, and devoted 
to what they respectively deemed a patriotic 
cause. 

The Confederates had the advantage in 
the outset, because Mr. Floyd, the Secretary 
of War under President Buchanan, 
had dispersed the regular army, com- 
prising 16,402 officers and men, to 
distant parts of the country where 
they were not available, and had sent 
off the vessels of the navy to foreign 
stations. 

Many of the old army offi- 
cers had passed over to the 
ate service, and vast quantities 
pons and ammunition had been 
ed from Northern to -^ . 
arsenals now in pos- ■ ''^ 
the seceded States, 
the army at Indian- 
been surrendered on 



%> 







^Vc 



THE ARTS OF PEACE AND THE ART OF WAR, 



Confeder- 
of wea- 
transferr- 
Southern 
session of 
A part of 
ola had 
February 18, 1861, 
bj' General Twiggs, 
to the Confederates, 
and other soldiers 
guarding our Mexi- 
can and Indian fron- 
tiers were captured, 
besides several na- 
tional vessels and fortresses. 
The South was, in short, 
much better prepared for the 
great conflict, and during the 
first year the preponderance 
of success was in its favor. 

The Confederates 
opened the war on April 1 2, 
1 86 1, by bombarding Fort 
Sumter, which had been 
occupied by Major Robert 
Anderson and a company 
of eighty men. This fort, 



134 McCLELLAN. 

although fiercely pounded by cannon balls and shells and set on fire several 
times, was gallantly held for two days, when it was obliged to surrender ; 
but its brave defenders were allowed to march out saluting the old flag, 
and to depart for the North without being regarded as prisoners of war. 
The attack on Sumter created the wildest excitement throughout the entire 
land, and it opened the eyes of the North to the amazing fact of a civil war. 
A wave of patriotism, as mighty as it was sudden, swept over the United 
States. President Lincoln issued a call for 75,000 volunteers for three months, 
and soon after another call for 64,000 men for the army and 18,000 for 
the navy, to serve during the war. The need for these calls was urgent 
enough. On April 20th the Confederates easily captured the great Norfolk 
Navy Yard, with three or four national vessels, including the frigate " Merri- 
mac," which subsequently wrought such fearful havoc at Hampton Roads, 
2000 cannon, besides small arms, munitions, and stores of immense value, all 
of which were given up without a shot in defense. The arsenal at Harper's 
Ferry, with millions of dollars' worth of arms and ammunition, was also in their 
possession ; and before the end of April 35,000 of their soldiers were already 
in the field, whilst 10,000 of these were rapidly marching northward. General 
R. E. Lee had been appointed Commander-in-chief of the army and navy of 
Virginia, and the 6th Regiment of Massachusetts militia had been savagely 
mobbed in the streets of Baltimore whilst going to the protection of Washington. 

A Unionist attack on the Confederates at Big Bethel, Va., was repulsed, 
but the Confederates were driven out of Western Virginia by General G. B. 
McClellan. Then came, on July 21, the engagement at Bull Run, known also as 
that of Manassas Junction, one of the most significant battles of the war. 
General Irwin McDowell, acting under instructions of General Scott, marched 
against the Confederate army under General Beauregard, and in the outset met 
with encouraging success ; but just as the Unionists imagined the victory theirs 
they were vigorously pressed by reinforcements that had come hurriedly up 
from Winchester under the leadership of General Johnston ; and being ex- 
hausted from twelve hours of marching and fighting under a sultry sun, they 
began a retreat which was soon turned into a panic, attended with wild disorder 
and demoralization. Had the Confederates, among whom at the close of the 
day was President Davis himself only known the e.xtent of their triumph, they 
might have followed it and possibly have seized Washington. About 30,000 
men fought on each side. The Confederate loss was 378 killed, 1489 wounded, 
and 30 missing. The Unionists lost 481 killed, loii wounded, and 1460 
missing, with 20 cannon and large quantities of small arms. 

From this moment it was understood that the struggle would be terrible, 
and that it might be long, not to say doubtful. Congress, then in extra session, 
authorized the enlistment of 500,000 men and the raising of $500,000,000. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



'i5 



Many of the States displayed intense patriotism, New York and Pennsylvania, 
for example, appropriating each $3,000,000, whilst Massachusetts and other New 
England States sent regiments fully equipped into the field. General McClellan 
was summoned to reorganize and discipline the multitudes of raw recruits that 
were thrown suddenly on his hands. His ability and thoroughness were of 
immense value in preparing them for their subsequent effective service, and he 
was soon after made Commander-in-chief in place of General Scott, retired. 
The South was also laboring with tremendous zeal and energy in the endeavor 
to enlist 400,000 men. 




FORT MOULTRIE, CHARLESTON, WITH FORT SUMTER IN THE DIST.^NCE. 

Early in August the death of General Nathaniel Lyon whilst attacking the 
Confederate General Ben. McCulloch at Wilson's Creek, and the retreat of his 
army, threw all Southern Missouri into the hands of the enemy. A few days 
after, General Buder took Forts Hatteras and Clark, with 700 prisoners, 1000 
muskets, and other stores. But victories alternated, for now General Sterling 
Price surrounded and captured the Unionist Colonel Mulligan and his Irish 
brigade of 2780, at Lexington, Mo. Worse, however, than this was the near 
annihilation, October 21st, of a Unionist force of 1700 under General C. P. Stone 
and Colonel E. D. Baker at Ball's Bluff. The noble Baker and 300 of the men 



136 



VICTORY AND DEFEAT. 



were slain and over 500 taken prisoners. Ten days later Commodore S. F. 
Dupont, aided by General T. W. Sherman with io,ocx) men, reduced the 
Confederate forts on Hilton Head and Phillips' Island and seized the adjacent 
Sea Islands. General Fremont, unable to find and engage the Confederate 
General Price in the West, was relieved of his command of 30,000 men ; but 
General U. S. Grant, by capturing the Confederate camp at Belmont, Mo., 
checked the advance of General Jeff Thompson. On the next day, November 
8th, occurred a memorable event which imperiled the peaceful relations between 




BATTLE OF PITTSBURG LANDING. 



the United States and Great Britain. Captain Wilkes of the United States 
frigate, "San Jacinto," compelled the British mail steamer, "Trent," to give up two 
of her passengers, the Confederate Commissioners, Mason and Slidell, who were 
on their way respectively to England and France in the interest of the South. 
A foreign war might have resulted had not Mr. William H. Seward, the astute 
Secretary of State, promptly disavowed the act and returned the Commissioners 
to English keeping. General E. O. C. Ord, commanding the Third Pennsylvania 
Brigade, gained a victory on December 20th at Dranesville over the Confederate 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. i37 

brigade of General J. E. B. Stuart, who lost 230 soldiers, and during the same 
month General Pope reported the capture of 2500 prisoners in Central Missouri^ 
with the loss of only 100 men ; but 1000 of these were taken by Colonel Jeff. C. 
Davis by surprising the Confederate camp at Milford. 

The year 1862 was marked by a series of bloody encounters. It opened 
with a Union army of 450,000 against a Confederate army of 350,000. The 
fighting began at Mill Spring, in Southern Kentucky, on January 19th, witn an 
assault by the Confederates led by General F. K. ZoUicoffer, acting under 
General G. B. Crittenden. They were routed by General George H. Thomas, 
ZoUicoffer being killed and Crittenden flying across the Cumberland River, 
leaving ten guns and 1 500 horses. This victory stirred the heart of the nation, 
and brought at once into brilliant prominence the great soldier and noble 
character whose greatnes blazed out like a sun at the close of the war. 

Another blow was soon struck. Brigadier General Grant, with 15,000 
troops, supported by Commodore A. H. Foote with seven gunboats, reduced Fort 
Henry on the Tennessee River and took its commander, General L. Tilghnian, 
prisoner, but could not prevent the greater portion of the garrison from 
escaping to Fort Donelson, twelve miles to the east. This stronghold, com- 
manding the navigation of the Cumberland River and containing 15,000' 
defenders under General J. B. Floyd, was regarded as impregnable. It fell, 
however, on February i6th, under a combined attack of Grant and Foote, 
surrendering 12,000 men and 40 cannon. Generals Floyd and Buckner, with a 
few of their command, managed to escape across the river by night, and General 
N. B. Forrest, with 800 cavalry, also got away. This splendid achievement 
threw Nashville and all Northern Tennessee into possession of the Unionists, 
and caused the immediate evacuation of the Confederate camp at Bowling 
Green, Kentucky. 

In the East, about the same time. General Burnside and Commodore 
Goldsborough, with 1 1,500 men on 31 steamboats, captured, with a loss of 300, 
Roanoke Island, N. C, and 2500 Confederates. On March 14th they carried 
New Bern by assault, losing 600 but taking 2 steamboats, 69 cannon, and 500 
prisoners ; and next they seized Fort Macon, with its garrison of 500 and stores. 
But the Unionist Generals Reno and Foster were repulsed, respectively, at 
South Mills and Goldsborough. One of the most notable of naval engagements 
took place on March 8th and 9th, when the Confederate ironclad, " Virginia," 
known better by her original name, the " Merrimac," steamed out from Norfolk 
attended by two gunboats. She plunged her iron ram into the Union frigate, 
"Cumberland," causing her to sink and to carry down part of her crew ; she 
blew up the " Congress," another Union frigate, destroying more than half of her 
crew of 434, drove the frigate " Lawrence " under the guns of Fortress Monroe, 
and bombarded until dusk with terrific energy, aided also by her gunboats, the 



"138 



STORY OF THE CIVIL WAR. 



Union steam frigate " Minnesota," which had got aground. She seemed 
destined on the next day to work immeasurable and unimpeded havoc. But, 
providentially, during the night the Union "Monitor," looking like "a cheese 
box on a raft," which had been built by Captain Ericsson and was commanded 
with consummate skill by Lieutenant J. L. Worden, steamed into the roadstead 
on her trial trip from New York. When, therefore, the " Merrimac " approached 
for new conquests the following morning her surprise was tremendous upon 
meeting such a strange craft. An unwonted and dramatic naval duel now 




ANTIETIM BRIDGE. 



occurred, from which the Confederate ram retired badly crippled and was soon 
afterward blown up to prevent her being captured. The "Monitor" was, 
unfortunately, lost some months afterward, in a storm off Hatteras. 

The smoke had not vanished from Hampton Roads before news came of 
an assault at Pea Ridge by from 16,000 to 18,000 Confederates, including 5000 
Indians, under General E. Van Dorn, on 10,500 Unionists under General S. R. 
Curtis, supported by Generals Asboth and Sigel. After three days of severe 
fighting, in which 1351 Unionists fell, the Confederates fled with precipitation. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 13^ 

leaving Generals B. McCulloch and Mcintosh dead and having Generals Price 
and Slack among their wounded. 

General McClellan having raised his 200,000 or more men to a high degree 
of efficiency, transferred considerably more than half of them to Fortress Monroe 
for the purpose of advancing on Richmond by way of the peninsula between the 
York and James Rivers. He left General Banks with 7000 soldiers to guard 
the Virginia Valley. This force, at that time under the command of General James 
Shields, because Banks had gone temporarily to Washington, was fiercely assailed 
at Kernstown by "Stonewall" Jackson at the head of 4000 men. Jackson 
was repulsed with a loss of 1000, whilst Shields lost 600. McClellan's advance 
was checked for a month by Confederate batteries at Warwick Creek and again 
at Williamsburg by General Magruder's works. Here General Hooker's division 
fought well for nine hours with heavy losses. Magruder, flanked by Hancock, 
whose two brigades fought bravely, was obliged to retreat, leaving 700 of his 
wounded. The Unionists lost altogether 2228, whilst the Confederates lost not 
quite so many. 

In the meantime, on April 6th, General Grant, with an army of 40,000, was 
surprised at Pittsburg Landing by 50,000 Confederates under General A. S. 
Johnson. General Grant, instead of being with his troops, was on a boat near 
Savannah, seven miles below. The Union forces were completely surprised. 
No intrenchments or earthworks of any kind had been erected — there were no 
abattis. The Union forces, surprised, were rapidly driven back with heavy loss in 
guns, killed, wounded, and prisoners, from Shiloh Church to the bluffs of the 
Tennessee, under which thousands of demoralized men took refuge. General 
Albert S. Johnson had been killed in the midst of the battle and General 
Beauregard succeeded to the command. Had General Johnson been alive the 
result might have been different ; but Beauregard was in command, and he 
missed the one opportunity of his Hfe in resting on his arms when he should 
have pressed the enemy to the river and forced a surrender. But relief was at 
hand, and under a leader who was a master general on the field. Sunday 
night General Don Carlos Buell arrived on the scene with a part of the Army 
of the Ohio. Moving General Nelson's division across the Tennessee in boats, 
he had them in position by seven o'clock in the evening, ready for the onset 
in the morning. Two more divisions were crossed early in the morning. At 
seven o'clock the attack was begun. General Buell leading his troops in 
person and General Grant advancing with his troops, yesterday overwhelmed 
by defeat, to-day hopeful and confident. The result is well known. Buell's 
fresh troops, handled in a masterly manner, were irresistible. By four o'clock 
the enemy lost all they had gained and were in full retreat, and the day 
was won, General Buell receiving unstinted praise for his victory. The 
Union loss was 1735 killed, 7882 wounded, and 3956 missing; total, 13,573. 



I40 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

The Confederates' loss was 1728 killed, 8012 wounded, 957 missing; totals 
10,699. 

About the same date General Pope and Commodore Foote captured Island 
No. 10, with 6700 Confederates under Brigadier General Makall ; and soon after 
Memphis surrendered to the Unionists, and on April nth Fort Pulaski fell 
before a bombardment by General O. A. Gilmore. This same month was notable 
for naval victories. Admiral Farragut with a fleet of forty-seven armed vessels 
and 310 guns stormed the Confederate Forts St. Philip and Jackson, destroyed 
various fire-rafts and gunboats, and after a series of brilliant actions compelled 
the Confederate General Lovell with 3000 defenders to withdraw from New 
Orleans, leaving -it to be occupied by 15,000 Unionists under General Butler. 
In the words of another, this "was a contest between iron hearts in wooden 
vessels, and iron clads with iron beaks, and the iron hearts prevailed." 

McClellan's army — a part of which had been thrown across the Chicka- 
hominy — was savagely attacked on May 28th, at Fair Oaks, by General Joseph 
E. Johnston, now Commander-in-chief of the Confederate forces. Although 
Johnston was badly wounded and his troops after a day of hard fighting were 
obliged to retire, yet the Union loss was 5739, including five colonels killed and 
seven generals wounded. McClellan was now reinforced until he had altogether 
156,828 men, of whom 1 15,162 were in good condition for effective service. Noth- 
ing, however, was accomplished until General Lee, who had succeeded the dis- 
abled Johnston, forced the fighting on June 26th that led to six horrible battles on 
as many successive days, known as those of Oak Grove, Mechanicsville, Gaines's 
Mills, Savage Station, White Oak Swamp, and Malvern Hill. In the last one 
the Confederates were signally defeated by McClellan with a loss of 10,000, 
while the Union loss was about 5000. During those six battles the Union loss 
was 1582 killed, 7709 wounded, and 5958 missing, making a total of 15,249. 
The Confederate loss was perhaps double ; General Griffith and three colonels 
killed. Nevertheless, McClellan's campaign was unsuccessful ; Richmond was 
not taken ; and by order of the President he retreated to the Potomac. 

General Halleck now became Commander-in-chief and a vigorous campaign 
was opened by the Unionist General Pope. He was met in several stubbornly 
fought actions by the Confederates under Generals Lee, Jackson, and Long- 
street, and was badly routed. '■' In this bloody affair, known as the second battle 
of Bull Run, the Unionists lost 25,000, including 9000 prisoners ; the Con- 

* In accounting for his defeat General Pope attempted to fix the blame upon General Fitz John 
Porter, a very able and successful commander, charging that he failed to support him, and a court- 
martial convened in the heat of the discussion cashiered the General. But later, in deference to public 
opinion, the case was reopened, the previous unjust verdict was set aside, and General Porter's good 
name was cleared, his conduct being fully justified — an acquittal in entire accord with the riper 
second thought of public opinion. 




ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND THE PEACE COMMISSIONERS 
In June, 18fi5, three Commissioners from the Confederacy suggestincj terms of peace, met President Lincoln and 

Secretary Seward in Fortress Monroe. 



LEE. 



X\T 



federates lost 15,000. General Lee, on September 8th, invaded Maryland, 
where at South Mountain he was worsted by McClellan, who lost heavily of his 
own men, but took 1500 prisoners. 

A few days later Harper's Ferry, with 11,583 Unionists, ']2) guns, and 
immense quantities of war munitions, was surrendered to Stonewall Jackson. 
McClellan, with 
80,000 men at- 
tacked Lee, posted 
with 70,000 on a 
ridgfe facincr Antie- 
tam Creek. This 
determined battle 
•ended in Lee's de- 
feat and retreat. 
McClellan lost 
2010 men killed, 
941 6 wounded, and 
1043 missing ; a 
total of 12,469. Lee 
lost 1842 killed, 
9399 wounded, and 
2292 missing ; to- 
tal 13.533- This 
is regarded as the 
bloodiest day in the 
histor)' of America. 
There is little 
doubt that had Mc- 
Clellan followed 
up his magnificent 
victory he could 
have entered Rich- 
mond. Here was 
his mistake ; but 
this did not justify 
the Government in 

retiring him as it did. Surely McClellan's great victory entided him to the 
further command ; but the opposition, especially that of Secretary Stanton, was 
too powerful, and he was retired. 

General Burnside, having succeeded McClellan, assailed Lee at Fredericks- 
burg, December 13th, but was disastrously beaten. His loss was 1152 killed. 




GENERAL ROBERT EDMUND LEE. 



•142 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

9101 wounded, 3234 missing ; total, 13,771. The Confederate loss was about 
5000. General Burnside was relieved in favor of General Hooker in January, 
1863, who — having received reinforcements until his army amounted to 100,000 
infantry, 13,000 cavalry, and 10,000 artillery — assumed the offensive against Lee 
on May 2d, 1863, at Chancellorsville, but was terribly defeated. He lost 17,197 
men. His defeat was due to a brilliant rear and flank movement executed by 
Stonewall Jackson, who thus demolished the Eleventh Corps but was himself 
slain. Jackson's death might well be regarded as an irreparable disaster to the 
Confederate cause. 

Lee, with nearly 100,000 men, again marched northward, taking 4000 
prisoners at Winchester. He was overtaken, July ist, by the Union army, 
numbering 100,000, now under the command of General George G. Meade, at 
Gettysburg ; where a gallknt and bloody battle was fought, lasting three days 
and ending in a great victory for the Unionists. One of the features of the 
battle was a gallant charge of Pickett's Confederate Brigade, when they faced a 
battery of 100 guns and were nearly annihilated. But it was all American 
bravery. They lost 2834 killed, 13,709 wounded, 6643 missing; total, 23,186. 
The total Confederate loss was 36,000. Had Meade known the extent of his 
triumph he might have followed and destroyed the retreating Lee, whose army 
in this campaign dwindled from 100,000 to 40,000. 

On the same memorable day, July 3d, Vicksburg, after having resisted 
many and determined assaults, and after finding its defenders on the south 
surprised and beaten in detail by Grant's army aided by Commodore Porter's 
naval operations, surrendered, closing a campaign in which Grant had taken 
37,000 prisoners, with arms and munitions for 60,000 men. His own loss was 
943 killed, 7095 wounded, and 537 missing; a total of 8515. These two 
notable victories were the turning points in the war. 

Meantime, in the West the war had been pursued during the year with 
varying fortunes. The Confederate General Forrest had captured 1500 men 
at Murfreesboro, Tenn.; Kirby Smith had captured 5000 Unionists at Richmond, 
Ky. ; General Bragg had captured 4000 prisoners at Mumfordsville, Tenn. ; 
Generals McCook and Rousseau, having attacked the enemy without the orders 
of General Buell, and thinking, as General Buell said, to win a victory without 
his assistance, were defeated by General Bragg at Perryville, whose loss was 
2300 : our loss was 4340. General Rosecrans, with a loss of 782, whipped the 
Confederate General Price, at luka. Miss., whose loss was 1000 men. Rose- 
crans repulsed again the Confederates on September 17th at Corinth, inflicting 
a loss of 1423 killed and taking 2248 prisoners. His own loss was 2359 men. 
A brigade of 2000 Unionists was captured by John Morgan. A campaign of 
46,910 men under Rosecrans culminated in the battle of Stone River, January 
2d, 1863, against Bragg, who was beaten and forced to retreat. The Unionist 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 143 

losses were 1533 killed, 7245 wounded, 2800 missing; a total of 11,578. 
Bragg's loss was 9000 killed and wounded and over 1000 missing. The Con 
federate Van Dorn surprised and took prisoners 2000 men at Holly Springs, 
and at the same time took ^4,000,000 worth of stores. General Sherman was 
repulsed at Chickasaw Bayou with a loss of 2000 men ; but General J. A. Mc- 
Clernand reduced Fort Hindman, capturing 5000 prisoners and 1 7 guns, while 
his loss was only 977. Colonel Grierson made a famous raid with 1700 cavalry 
to Baton Rouge, cutting Confederate communications and taking 500 prisoners. 
At Milliken's Bend the Unionist General Dennis, having 1400, repelled an 
attack of the Confederate General H. McCulloch, the loss on either side being 
500. At Helena, Arkansas, the Unionist General B. M. Prentiss, with 4000, 
also repulsed General Holmes with 3646, of whom 1636 were lost. The Con- 
federate raider, Morgan, with a mounted force of 4000 men, invaded Ohio, 
July 7th, but was caught by gunboats and obliged to surrender. 

General Burnside, early in September, at Cumberland Gap, captured General 
Frazier with fourteen guns and 2000 men. Then came, on September 19th, the 
great battle of Chickamauga, between Rosecrans and Thomas with 55,000 men 
on one side, and Bragg and Longstreet with about the same number on the other 
side. Longstreet annihilated Rosecrans' right wing ; but Thomas by his firmness 
and skill saved the day. The Confederates lost 18,000, while the Union loss was 
1644 killed, 9262 wounded, 4945 missing ; total, 15,581. Our army fell back on 
Chattanooga. Longstreet's attempt, Nov. 28th, to dislodge Burnside from Knox- 
ville resulted in his own loss of 800 and retreat. The Unionists lost 100 men. 

On September 2 2d to 24th the forces of General George H. Thomas, rein- 
forced by General Sherman, under the command of Grant, assaulted Bragg's 
army on Mission Ridge, facing Chattanooga. General Sherman crossed the 
Tennessee to attempt a flank movement but was repulsed. General Hooker 
moved up Lookout Mountain and drove the Confederates before him, capturing 
men and gruns. Then General G. H. Thomas, in accordance with his origrinal 
plan of battle, moved his army by the front directly up the heights of Mission 
Ridge, assailing the enemy in the very teeth of his batteries. The fight was 
desperate, but Thomas's forces won, driving the enemy, making many prisoners 
and capturing many guns. The Union losses were 757 killed, 4529 wounded, 
330 missing ; total, 5616. There were 6142 prisoners captured from the enemy. 

During this time Charleston, which had inaugurated the Rebellion, pluckily 
resisted all attempts to take it. For example, her defenders beat back 6000 
Unionists with a loss of 574 men at Secessionville June i6th. Again, they dis- 
abled two of the blockading gunboats on January ist, 1863 ; again, they forced 
nine bombarding iron-clads under Commodore Dupont to retire ; again, they 
repulsed from Fort Wagner a storming party under General Gilmore, inflicting 
a loss of 1500, while their loss was but 100 men ; again, while obliged to evacuate 



144 



A GREAT FIGHT. 



Fort Wagner, leaving i8 guns there, and 
seven guns in Battery Gregg, they re- 
pulsed the Unionists' attempt to scale 
Fort Sumter and slew 200 men. 

Nor did the Unionists fare better 
in Florida. They lost under 
General T. Seymour 2000 of 
his 6000 troops at Olustee, 
where the Confederates lost 
'but 730 men. The Unionists 
again lost 
1600 out of 
^000 men 
under Gen. 



^ =-*• 




'*. 



B.ETREAT OF LEE S ARMY. 



Wessels at 
Plymouth, 
North Caro- 
lina, when 
the Confed- 
erate General Hoke's loss 
was but 300 men. 

In the Southwest, 
however, the Unionists' 
cause had gained con- 
siderable advantages un- 
der General Banks, having 
a command of 30,000 men. 
Aided by Commodore 
Farragut, at Alexandria, 
La., he drove General R. 
Taylor and captured 2000 
prisoners, several steam- 
boats, and 22 guns. His 
assault, however, on Port 
Hudson, in June, was re- 
pelled with a loss of 2000 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. I4S 

men, while the Confederates lost but 300 men. But Port Hudson, as it was about 
to be cannonaded by the gunboats set free by the fall of Vicksburg, was surren- 
dered, July 6th, by the Confederate General Gardener, with his garrison of 6408 
men. Banks' effective force had been reduced to 10,000. His total captures 
during the campaign were 10,584 men, 73 guns, and 6000 small arms. But 
Brashear City had some days before been surprised and captured by General R. 
Taylor (Confederate) with a Union loss of 1000 men and 10 guns. The Unionist 
General Dudley lost near Donaldsonville 300 prisoners, and again, the Unionist 
General Franklin with a fleet and 4000 men was repelled with a loss of two gun- 
boats, 15 guns, and 250 men, by less than that number within the fort at Sabine 
Pass, and at Teche Bayou the 67th Indiana Regiment was captured entire. 

The Red River expeditions in March and April, 1864, toward Shreveport 
under General Banks, from New Orleans, with a force of 40,000, and under 
General Steel, from Litde Rock, with 12,000, were disastrous failures. The 
former had to retreat with a loss of about 5000, and the latter was also beaten 
back with a loss of 2200; but at Jenkins Ferry he repulsed the Confederate 
attack led by General Kirby Smith, with a loss of 2300. In August of this year 
(1864) Commodore Farragut executed one of the fiercest and most heroic 
naval combats on record. Having lashed himself to the mast of the Hartford, he 
advanced with a fleet of 14 wooden steamers and gunboats and four iron-clad 
monitors against Forts Morgan and Gaines, at the entrance of Mobile Bay, 
He ran the bows of his wooden vessels full speed against the rebel iron-clad 
Tennessee, gaining a notable victory, which ended in the fall of the forts and 
the city of Mobile. 

General Grant was appointed Commander-in-chief of all the Union armies 
on March i, 1864. Having sent Sherman to conduct a campaign in the West, he 
himself on May 4 and 5, crossed the Rapidan for a direct southerly advance to 
Richmond. A campaign of 43 days followed, in which more than 100,000 men, 
frequently reinforced, were engaged on either side. He was met by Lee in the 
Wilderness, where, after two days of terrible slaughter, the battle ended without 
decided advantage to either side. Among the Unionists, General J. S. Wads- 
worth was killed and seven generals were wounded, the entire loss amount- 
ing to 20,000 men. The Confederates lost 8000 men, with Longstreet badly 
wounded. 

Finding Lee's position impregnable. Grant advanced by a flank movement 
to Spottsylvania Court House. Here, on May nth, Hancock, by a desperate 
assault, captured Generals Johnson and E. H. Stewart, with 3000 men and 
30 guns, while Lee himself barely escaped. But no fighting, however desperate, 
could carry Lee's works. Sheridan with his cavalry now made a dashing raid 
toward Richmond. He fought the Confederate cavalry, killed their General, 
J. E. B. Stuart, and returne;,d, having suffered little damage, to Grant. General 
10 



146 



A GREAT FIGHT. 



Butler with 30,000 men steamed up the James River and seized City Point, with 
the view of seizing Petersburg. He was, however, too slow, and in a fight with 
Beauregard, near Proctor's Creek, lost 4000 men, while the Confederates lost 
but 3000. 

General Grant reached, May 17th, the North Anna, where he gained some 
advantage, but as Lee was strongly intrenched, he moved on again to Cold 
Harbor. Here an assault on Lee ended with a Union loss of 1705 killed, 9072 
wounded and 2406 missing. Sheridan again raided Lee's rear, tore up rail- 
roads, and burnt stores, and after having lost 735 men he returned to Grant with 
370 prisoners. Grant now pressed on toward the James River ; assaults were 




ENTRANCE TO GETTYSBURG CEMETERY. 



made on Petersburg with a loss of many killed and 5000 prisoners. 1 he 
Unionist General Wilson, with 8000 cavalry, while tearing up the Danville 
railroad, lost 1000 prisoners. 

Another attempt to take Petersburg by a mine explosion resulted in a 
Unionist loss of 4400 and Confederate loss of 1000. A series of gallant 
attacks by the Unionists were as gallantly repulsed. Thus Hancock assailed 
Lee's left wing below Richmond, losing 5000 men. Warren seized the Weldon 
Railroad, at the expense of 4450, while the Confederates lost but 1 200. Han- 
cock's attempt to seize Ream's Station ended in his being driven back and 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 147 

losing 2400 men. Warren grasped the Squirrel Level Road at a cost of 2500 
men. Butler, however, took Port Harrison, with 115 guns, but failed to take 
Fort Gilmore after a loss of 300. The Confederates, attempting to retake Fort 
Harrison, were beaten back with a heavy loss. The Union cavalry under Gen- 
eral Kautz advanced within five miles of Richmond, but were driven back with 
a loss of 9 guns and 500 men. Hancock tried to turn the Confederate flank 
and took 1000 prisoners, but had to retire with a loss of 1500. 

Thus this campaign of 1864 closed with a loss in the aggregate of 87,387 
men from the Army of the Potomac. 

In West Virginia Sigel was routed at New Market by J. C. Breckinridge 
with a loss of six guns and 700 men. Hunter, succeeding Sigel, beat the Con- 
federates, June 8th, at Piedmont, killing General Jones and taking 1500 men, but 
was himself, with 20,000 men, soon after beaten at Lynchburg, and forced to a 
disastrous retreat over the Alleghanies to the Potomac. 

This opened the way for the Confederate, Early, with 20,000 veterans, to 
march northward. With a loss of but 600 he defeated General Lew Wallace 
near Frederick, killing and capturing 2000 men. After threatening Baltimore 
and Washington he retreated South with 2500 captured horses and 5000 cattle. 
He also defeated at Winchester General Crook, whose loss was 1200. Shortly 
after the Unionist General Averill defeated B. F. Johnson's cavalry and took 
500 prisoners. 

Not long after, on September 19, 1864, Early, after a brilliant attack by 
Sheridan at Winchester, was routed, losing 6000 men, while the Unionists lost 
1000 less. At Fisher's Hill Sheridan again routed him, taking 16 guns and 
1 100 prisoners; at Cedar Creek, while Sheridan was absent at Washington, 
Early made a sudden and determined assault, throwing the Unionists into a panic- 
stricken mob, capturing 24 guns and 1200 prisoners. Sheridan, by his famous 
ride of twenty miles, met his beaten army. He reorganized it, inspired it to 
make a general and magnificent attack, and won a great victory, recapturing 
his 24 guns, taking 23 more, and 1500 prisoners. The loss on either side 
was about 3000. 

In the Southwest General Sturgis (Union) with 12,000 men routed General 
Forrest at Guntown, Miss., killing and capturing 4000. In East Tennessee 
the Confederate raider Morgan captured 1600 L^nionists at Licking River, but 
was himself soon after chased away with a loss of half his force. During these 
operations General Sherman advanced (May 18, 1864) with 100,000 men from 
Chattanooga. He was stubbornly resisted by General J. E. Johnston with an 
army of 54,000. At Kenesaw Mountain Sherman lost 3000 men while the 
Confederates lost 442. He, however, kept flanking and fighting the Confed- 
erates until he reached Atlanta, during which two months the enemy had lost 
14,200 men ; but reinforcements kept their numbers up to 51,000. During 



148 



SHERMAN'S MARCH. 



these movements the Confederate General Polk, who on accepting his coinmis- 
sion in the army had not resigned his position as a Bishop of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church, was killed by a cannon ball while reconnoitring on Pine 
Mountain, a few miles north of Marietta. Hood succeeded Johnston, and 
aimed a heavy blow at Thomas, on Sherman's right, losing 4000 and inflicting 




LONGSTREET REPORTING AT BRAGG'S HEADQUARTERS. 



a loss of but 1500. On the 2 2d occurred another great battle in which 
McPherson, a very superior Union general, was killed, and ^000 Unionists 
were lost. The Confederate loss was, however, not less than 8000. General 
Stoneman whilst raiding Hood's rear was captured, with 1000 of his cavalry. 
Hood, after suffering a heavy repulse by Logan, and another at Jonesboro 
by Howard, in the latter of which he lost 2000, and still another by ]. C. 



c 

p 




THE STORY OF AMERICA. i49 

Davis, when Jonesboro and many guns and prisoners wei*- calcen from 
him, retreated eastward, leaving Atlanta, September ist, to the Union victors. 
Being reinforced, however, so as to have about 55,000 troops, he returned for 
an invasion of Tennessee. At Franklin, November 30th, he made a desperate 
onset against Schofield, and was baffled, at an expense of 4500 men to himself 
and of 2320 to the Union. At Nashville, to which he laid siege, he was struck 
by Thomas, December 15th, with great skill and determination during a two 
days' battle, and broken to pieces, having lost more than 13,000, besides seventy- 
two pieces of artillery. The Union loss was 10,000 during the campaign. In 
November and December Sherman at the head of 65,500, including the cavalry 
protection of Kilpatrick, executed his famous march to the sea, i.e., from Atlanta 
to Savannah. His reward was 167 guns and 1328 prisoners and a demoralized 
South. The Confederate General Hardee, who had already evacuated Savan- 
nah, was obliged by a new advance of Sherman northward, February, 1:863, 
to evacuate Charleston also, with 12,000 men. A cavalry engagement took 
place near the north line of South Carolina, between Kilpatrick and Wade 
Hampton, in which the former was surprised, but the Utter finally beat him. 
Near Fayetteville, North Carolina, March 15th, he was attacked without success 
by Hardee, now acting under Joseph Johnston, having 40,000 men under his 
command ; and three days after at Bentonville by Johnston himself. Sherman 
lost 1643, t>'it forced Johnston to retire, leaving 267 dead and 1625 prisoners 
and wounded. 

Fort Fisher, that protected the blockade runners at Wilmington, N. C, was 
bombarded by Commodore Porter and carried by assault by General A. H. 
Terry, January 16, 1865. This victory, purchased at a cost of 410 killed and 
536 wounded, threw into the Union hands 169 guns and 2083 prisoners. And 
Wilmington itself fell about one month later, under an attack by Schofield. 

General James H. Wilson, with 15,000 cavalry from the armies of Grant 
and Thomas, routed General Forrest at Selma, Ala., April 2d, capturing 22 
guns and 2700 prisoners and burning 125,000 bales of cotton. Soon after, he 
captured at Columbus, Ga., 52 guns and 1200 prisoners, besides burning a 
gunboat, 250 cars, and 115,000 cotton bales. He took Fort Tyler by assault, 
but ceased operations at Macon, Ga., because by that time the rebellion was 
crushed. 

General Grant resumed operations February 6, 1865, when he repulsed at 
Hatcher's Run, at a cost of 2000 troops, the Confederates, who lost 1000. 
General Sheridan with 10,000 cavalry routed Early, on March 2d, from Waynes- 
boro, taking 11 guns and 1600 prisoners, and joined Grant at Petersburg after 
having passed entirely around Lee's army. An attack by Lee against Fort 
Stedman was repelled with a loss of 2500 to the Unionists and 4500 to the 
Confederates. 



I50 LEE'S SURRENDER. 

Grant, fearing that Lee might attempt to evacuate Richmond, threw 
Warren's corps and Sheridan's cavalry to the southwest of Petersburg. 
Warren, after having his divisions broken by Lee but re-formed by the aid of 
Griffin, united with Sheridan, who had been foiled the day before, April ist, at 
Five Forks. Warren and Sheridan now charged the Confederates' works, 
which were taken, along with 5000 prisoners. A general assault was made by 
the Union army at daylight, April 2d, when Ord's Corps (Union) carried Forts 
Gregg and Alexander by storm. A. P. Hill, a brilliant Confederate general, 
was shot dead. That night Lee evacuated Richmond, burning his warehouses 
filled with stores. General Weitzel, at 6 a.m. April 3d, entered the city with 
his men and was soon followed by President Lincoln. Petersburg was at the 
same time abandoned. Lee halted his army, now dwindled to 35,000 men, at 
Amelia Court House. Grant rapidly pursued. Ewell was severed from Lee's 
rear and became one among 6000 prisoners. Lee heroically pushed on to 
Appomattox Court House, where his flight was intercepted by Sherman marching 
from the South. Lee was inclined to renew the fisfhting- agfainst Sherman, but 
his weary and famished army stood no chance against the fearful odds around 
them. And Lee, to prevent further useless bloodshed, surrendered his army to 
Grant on April 9, 1865, within three days of four years after the rebellion had 
been opened by the bombardment of Fort Sumter. Bell ringing, triumphant 
salutes, and boundless joy throughout the United States hailed this event as the 
close of the war. Johnston surrendered his army to Sherman at Raleigh, N. C, 
April 26th, and Dick Taylor his, to Canby at Citronville, Ala., May 4th. The 
terms of the surrender were magnanimous : " Each officer and man was allowed 
to return to his home, not to be disturbed by the United States authority so 
long as they observed their paroles and the laws in force where they may 
reside." 

Jefferson Davis, the president of the now destroyed Confederacy, fled from 
Richmond at the time of its evacuation. Attended at first with a cavalry escort 
of 2000, which soon dwindled mostly away, he was making his way toward the 
coast, with his family and "a few faithful followers " when he was captured near 
Irwinsville, Georgia. After an imprisonment of two years in Fortress Monroe, 
he was released, and allowed to live without molestation,' mourning the lost 
cause, until he died, December 6, 1889. 

The Union soldiers numbered during the war 2,666,999, ^f which 294,266 
were drafted, the rest being volunteers. The deaths on the field or from 
wounds amounted to 5221 officers and 90,868 men, while 2321 officers 182,329 
men died from disease or accident. The Confederate armies enrolled were 
600,000 men, of whom they lost more than one-half The Confederate cruisers, 
the "Alabama," "Florida," "Georgia," "Sumter," and "Tallahassee," most of 



THE STOKY OF AMERICA. 



151 



which were fitted out in British ports, well nigh destroyed American commerce. 
The "Alabama," commanded by Raphael Semmes, went down off the French 
coast, June 19, 1864, in a memorable action with the U. S. S. " Kearsarge," 
commanded by Captain Winslow. 

The greatest act of Abraham Lincoln was his Emancipation Proclamation, 
issued January i, 1863, giving freedom to 4,000,000 of slaves. 

And so ended the great internecine conflict, which has made us a strong, 
consolidated, free nation, never again, let us hope, to be given over to fraternal 
strife. 




LINCOLN'S GRAVE. 




152 



VIEW OF THE CAPITOL, WASHINGTON. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



OUR KLAQ AT SEA. 




Prior to the break- 
ing out of the Revolution- 
"^ ary War, America had no 
navy. The colonists had 
before this time looked 
to the mother country for 
protection on the seas. 
But in the fall of 1775, 
when war seemed im- 
minent, the building of 
\ thirteen war-cruisers was 
•' begun. Only one of 
these ships-of-the-line was 
built — the "America" — 
and she was given to 
France before she was 
launched. During the 
whole war, a total of 
twenty small frigates and 
twenty-one sloops flew 
the American flag ; and 
fifteen of the former and 
ten of the latter were 
either captured or de- 
stroyed. What cockle-shells they were, and how slight in armament, compared 
with the floating fortresses of to-day, may be reckoned from the fact that twelve- 
pounders were their heaviest guns. Beside these, of course, there were many 
privateers, sent out to prey upon the enemy's commerce. These swift fishing 
craft ventured even to cruise along the very coast of England, and down to the 
time of the French alliance captured more than six hundred English vessels. 

In the annals of the regular navy, there are but three great captains' names: 
Wickes, Conyngham, and Jones. It was Lambert Wickes who, on his little 
sixteen-gun "Reprisal," first bore the American war-flag to the shores of Europe, 

. .153 



RICHARD AND SERAPIS. 



154 ■ THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

and made it a terror to the great power that claimed to "rule the waves." 
After a brilliant cruise the " Reprisal " went down, with all hands, in the summer 
of 1777, on the treacherous banks of Newfoundland. Then Gustavus Conyngham 
took up the work, with his "Surprise" and "Revenge," and that very summer 
so scourged the might of England in the North Sea and in the British Channel 
itself, that the ports were crowded with ships that dared not venture out, and 
the rates of marine insurance rose to fabulous figures. 

But the one splendid name of that era was that of a canny young Scotch 
man, John Paul Jones. Eighteenth he stood on the list of captains commissioned 
by the Congress, but on the scroll of fame, for those times, first — and there is no 
second. Coming to Virginia in boyhood, he entered the mercantile marine. 
When the war broke out he offered his services to the Congress, and was made 
a captain. And in 1778 he was sent with the "Ranger," of eighteen guns, to 
follow where Wickes and Conyngham had led. He swept with his tiny craft up 
and down the Irish Channel, entered Whitehaven and burned the shipping at 
the docks ; captured off Carrickfergus the British war-sloop " Drake," larger 
than his own ship, and then made his way to Brest with all his prizes in tow. 

Next year he set out on his immortal cruise, with a squadron of five ships. 
His flagship was an old merchantman, the "Duras," fitted up for fighting and 
renamed the " Bon Homme Richard," in honor of Franklin and his " Poor 
Richard's Almanac." She was a clumsy affair, armed with thirty-two twelve- 
poi-nders and six old eighteen-pounders not fit for use, and manned by 380 men 
of every race, from New Englanders to Malays. The "Pallas" was also a 
merchantman transformed into a thirty-two gun frigate. The " Vengeance " and 
the "Cerf" were much smaller; quite insignificant. The "Alliance" was a 
new ship, built in Massachusetts for the navy, but unhappily commanded by a 
Frenchman named Landais, half fool, half knave. Indeed, all the vessels save 
the flagship were commanded by Frenchmen, who were openly insubordinate, 
refusing half the time to recognize the commodore's authorit}', and often leaving 
him to cruise and fight alone. Yet the motley squadron did much e.xecution 
along the shores of Britain. It all but captured the city of Leith, and entered 
H umber and destroyed much shipping. 

But the crowning glory came on September 23, 1779. On that immortal 
date Jones espied, off Flamborough Head, a fleet of forty British merchantmen, 
guarded by two frigates, bound for the Baltic. At once he gave chase. He 
had, besides his own ship, only the " Pallas " and the "Alliance," but they would 
be sufficient to capture the whole fleet. But the miserable Landais refused to 
obey the signal, and kept out of the action. So the fight began, two and two. 
Jones, with the " Bon Homme Richard," attacked the "Serapis," Captain Pear- 
son, and the " Pallas" engaged the " Countess of Scarborough." The "Sera- 
pis " had fifty guns and was much faster and stronger than Jones's ship. The 



JOHN PAUL JONES AND HIS FAMOUS VICTORY. 



"Countess of Scarborough," on the other hand, was much inferior to the 
"Pallas" and proved an early victim. 

It was growing dark, on a cloudy evening, and the sea was smooth as a 
mill-pond, when the " Bon Homme Richard " and the " Serapis " began their 
awful duel. Both fired full broadsides at the same instant. Two of Jones's old 
eicfhteen-pounders burst, killing twelve men, and the others were at once aban- 
doned. So all through the fight, after that first volley, he had only his thirty-two 
twelve-pounders against the 
fifty guns — twenty of them 
eighteen-pounders, twenty 
nine-pounders, and ten six- 
pounders — of the " Serapis." 
For an hour they fought and 
manoeuvred, then came to- 
gether with a crash. An 
instant, the firing ceased. 
" Have you struck your 
colors?" demanded Pearson. 
" I have not yet begun to 
fight!" replied Jones. Then 
with his own hands Jones 
lashed the two ships together, 
and inseparably joined, their 
sides actually touching, they 
battled on. Solid shot and 
canister swept through both 
ships like hail, while musket- 
men on the decks and in the 
rigging exchanged storms of 
bullets. For an hour and a 
half the conflict raged. Then 
Landais came up with the 
"Alliance" and began firing 

equally on both. Jones ordered him to go to the other side of the " Serapis" 
and board, and his answer was to turn helm and go out of the fight altogether. 
Now the fighting ships were both afire, and both leaking and sinking. Most 
of the guns were disabled, and three-fourths of the men were killed or 
wounded. The gallant Pearson stood almost alone on the deck of the doomed 
"Serapis," not one of his men able to fight longer. Jones was as solitary on 
the "Bon Homme Richard." all his men still able-bodied being at the pumps, 
striving to keep the ship afloat. With his own hands he trained a gun upon 




PAUL JONES. 



156 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

the mainmast of the "Serapis," and cut it down; and then Pearson surren- 
dered. The "Pallas" and "Alliance" came up and took off the men, and in 
a few hours the two ships sank, still bound together in the clasp of death. 

This was not only one of the most desperate and deadly naval battles 
in history. Its moral effect was epoch-making. John Paul Jones was the 
hero of the day, and Europe showered honors upon him. The American flag 
was hailed as a rival to that of England on the seas, and all Europe was 
encouraged to unite against England and force her to abate her arrogant pre- 
tensions, and to accede to a more just and liberal code of international maritime 
law than had before prevailed. In view of this latter fact, this battle must be 
ranked among the three or four most important in the naval history of the 
world. It was this battle that inspired Catharine of Russia to enunciate the 
doctrine of the rights of neutrals in maritime affairs ; and the tardy acquiescence 
of England, eighty years later, in that now universal principle, was brought 
about by the blow struck by John Paul Jones off Flamborough Head. 

There were no other naval operations of importance during the Revolution, 
save those of the French fleet at Yorktown. But soon after the declaration of 
peace, new complications arose, threatening a war at sea. England and France 
were fighting each other, and commerce was therefore diverted to the shipping 
of other nations. A very large share of Europe's carrying trade was done by 
American vessels. But these were between two fires. England insisted that 
she had a right to stop and search American ships and take from them all 
sailors of English birth ; actually taking whom she pleased ; and France made 
free to seize any American ships she pleased, under the pretext that there were 
English goods aboard ; and when she captured an English ship and found on 
board an American seaman who had been impressed, instead of treating him 
as a prisoner of war, like the others, she hanged him as a pirate. 

Naturally indignation rose high, and preparations were made for war with 
France. In July, 1 798, the three famous frigates, the "Constellation," the "United 
States," and the "Constitution," best known as "Old Ironsides," were sent to sea, 
and Congress authorized the navy to be increased to include six frigates, twelve 
sloops, and six smaller craft. Among the officers commissioned, were the illus- 
trious Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur, Rodgers, and Stewart. Actual hostilities soon 
began. French piratical cruisers were captured, and an American squadron 
sailed for the West Indies to deal with the- French privateers that abounded 
there, in which work it was generally successful. In January, 1 799, Congress 
voted a million dollars, for building six ships of the line and six sloops. Soon 
after, on February 9, occurred the first engagement between vessels of the 
American and French navies. The " Constellation," Captain Truxton, over- 
hauled " L'Insurorente," at St. Kitts, in the West Indies, and after a figrht of an 
hour and a quarter forced her to surrender. The " Constellation " had three 



SUPPRESSING THE BARBARY PIRATES. 157 

men killed and one wounded ; " L'Insurgente " twenty killed and forty-six 
wounded. 

Again, on February i, 1800, Truxton with the " Constellation " came up, al 
Guadeloupe, with the French Frigate " La Vengeance." After chasing her two 
days he brought on an action. The two ships fought all night. In the 
morning, "La Vengeance," completely silenced and shattered, drew away and 
[escaped to Curacoa, where she was condemned as unfit for further service. 
The "Constellation " was little injured save in her rigging. For his gallantry, 
Truxton received a gold medal from Congress. Later in that year there 
were some minor enofag-ements, in which Americans were successful. 

By the spring of 1801, friendly relations with France were restored. The 
President was accordingly authorized to dispose of all the navy, save thirteen 
ships, six of which were to be kept constantly in commission, and to dismiss 
from the service all ofiicers save nine captains, thirty-six lieutenants, and one 
hundred and fifty midshipmen. At about this time ground was purchased and 
navy-yards established at Portsmouth, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Wash- 
ington and Norfolk, and half a million dollars was appropriated for the 
completion of six seventy-four gun ships. 

Now came on real war. For many years the pirate ships of the Barbary 
States, Algeria and Tripoli, had been the scourge of the Mediterranean. The 
commerce of every land had suftered. European powers did not venture to 
suppress the evil, but some of them basely purchased immunity by paying 
tribute to the pirates. America, too, at first followed this humiliating course, 
actually thus paying millions of dollars. In September, 1800, Captain Bainbridge 
went with the frigate " George Washington " to bear to the Dey of Algeria the 
annual tribute. The Dey took the money, and then impressed Bainbridge and 
his ship into his own service for a time, to go on an errand to Constantinople, 
l^ainbridge reported this to Congress, adding, " I hope I shall never again be 
sent with tribute, unless to deliver it from the mouth of our (;annon." However, 
Bainbridge was received courteously at Constantinople, and his ship was the 
first to display the American flag there. 

Captain Dale was sent with a squadron to the Mediterranean in 1801, to 
repress the pirates of Tripoli. One of his ships, the schooner "Experiment," 
captured a Tripolitan cruiser, and this checked for a time the ardor of the pirates. 
But open war was soon declared between the two countries, and Congress 
authorized the sending of a larger fleet to the Mediterranean. The gallant 
Truxton was offered the command of it, but declined because the cheese-paring 
Administration was too parsimonious to allow him a proper staff" of subordinates. 
Thereupon he was dismissed from the service, and Captain Morris sent in his 
place. But false economy had so enfeebled the navy that the fleet was able to 
do little. One Tripolitan ship was captured, however, and another destroyed. 



158 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

Then the Government woIcq up, and began building new ships, and sent 
another rquadron over, led by Preble with the "Constitution." He went first 
to Morocco, whose Sultan at once sued for peace ; and then proceeded to 
Tripoli. Here he found that the frigate " Philadelphia," with Bainbridge and 
three hundred men aboard, had been captured and was being refitted by the 
Tripolitans for their own use. Decatur, commanding the " Enterprise," under 
Preble, determined upon a bold counter-stroke. Taking a small vessel, the 
"Intrepid," which he had captured from Tripoli, he sailed boldly into the 
harbor, flying the Tripolitan flag and pretending to be a merchant of that 
country. Running alongside the " Philadelphia," he boarded her, set her afire, 
and sailed away in safety, though amid a storm of shot and shell. The " Phila- 
delphia " was burned to the water's edge. 

Nothing more was done at the time, however, save to keep up a blockade, 
and Bainbridge and his men remained in captivity. In August, 1804, Preble and 
Decatur made a vigorous attack upon the harbor, and destroyed two and 
captured three vessels. A few days later other attacks were made. Then a 
new squadron under Commodore Barron came to the scene, and Preble was 
[>uperseded. No other naval operations of importance occurred, and peace was 
finally concluded in 1S05. 

Troubles with England now grew more serious. That country persisted in 
searching American ships and taking from them all whom she chose to call 
deserters from the British service. And so the two powers drifted into the war 
of 181 2. In that struggle, the Americans were badly worsted on land, but won 
victories of the first magnitude on the lakes and ocean. America had only 
nine frigates and a score of smaller craft, while England had a hundred ships of 
the line. Yet the honors of the war on the sea rested with the former. Her 
triumphs startled the world. The destruction of the "Guerriere" by the 
"Constitution," Captain Hull, marked an epoch in naval history. Then the 
" United States," Captain Decatur, vanquished the " Macedonian ;" the 
"Wasp," Captain Jones, the "Frolic ;" the "Constitution," Captain Bainbridge, 
the "Java;" and the " Hornet " the "Peacock." On Lake Erie, Commodore 
Perry won a great victory, which he announced in the famous message, " We 
have met the enemy, and they are ours." Equally brilliant was the victory of 
MacDonough on Lake Champlain. The most 'deplorable reverse was the 
destruction of the "Chesapeake" by the British ship " Shannon," the "Chesa- 
peake's " commander, Lawrence, losing his life, but winning fame through his 
dying words, " Don't give up the ship !" 

The conflicts of this war are more fully detailed elsewhere in this volume. 
It is needful here only to mention them briefly, as we have done. The cause of 
the surprising successes of the Americans may well be explained, however. 
It was due to that very inventive ingenuity? that has made the history of the 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 159 

world's industrial progress so largely a mere chronicle of "Yankee notions." 
The Americans had invented and were using sights on their cannon. That was 
all. But the result was that their aim was far more accurate and their fire far 
more effective than that of their opponents. This advantage, added to courage 
and skill in seamanship equal to any the world had known, gave them their 
victory. 

This war was ended in February, 181 5, and a month later another was 
begun. This was against the Dey of Algeria, who had broken the peace anr" 
seized an American ship, despite the fact that America had continued down to 
this time to pay tribute to him. It was now determined to make an end of the 
business ; so Bainbridge was sent, as he had requested, to deliver the final 
tribute from his cannons' mouths. Before he got there, however, Decatur, did 
the work. He captured an Algerine vessel ; sailed into port and dictated an 
honorable peace ; and then imposed like terms on Tripoli and Tunis, thus 
ending the tyranny of the Barbary States over the commerce of the world. 

Thereafter for many years the navy had not much to do. Some vessels were 
used for purposes of exploration and research, and much was thereby added to 
the scientific knowledge of the world. During the Mexican war, naval opera 
tions were unimportant. But in 1846 complications with Japan were begun. 
In that year two ships were sent to the Island empire, on an errand of peaceful 
negotiation, which proved fruitless. Three years later another went, on a 
sterner errand, and rescued at the cannon's mouth a number of shipwrecked 
American sailors who had been thrown into captivity. 

Finally the task of "opening japan" to intercourse with the rest of the 
world, a task no other power had ventured to assume, was undertaken by 
America. On November 24, 1852, Commodore Perry set sail thither, with a 
powerful fleet. His commission was to "open Japan "; by peaceful diplomacy 
if he could, by force of arms if he must. The simple show of force was 
sufficient, and in 1854, he returned in triumph, bearing a treaty with Japan. 

The most extended and important services of the United States navy were 
performed during the War of the Rebellion At the outbreak of that conflict, 
in 1 86 1, the whole navy comprised only forty-two vessels in commission. 
Nearly all of these were scattered in distant parts of the world, where they had 
been purposely sent by the conspirators at Washington. Most of those that 
remained were destroyed in port, so that there was actually for a time only one 
serviceable war-ship on the North Atlantic coast. But building and purchase 
soon increased the navy, so that before the end of the year it numbered two 
hundred and sixty-four, and was able to blockade all the ports of the Southern 
Confederacy. They were a motley set, vessels of every imaginable type, ferry- 
boats and freight steamers, even, being pressed into use ; but they served. 

The first important naval action was that at Hatteras Inlet, in August, 186 1. 



i6o PASSING THE FORTS. 

There Commodore Stringham, with a fleet of steam and saiUng craft, bombarded 
a series of powerful forts and forced them to surrender, without the loss of a single 
man aboard the ships. Next came the storming of Port Royal. At the end of 
October Commodore Dupont and Commander Rodgers went thither with a 
strong squadron. They entered the harbor, and formed with their ships an 
ellipse, which kept constantly revolving, opposite the forts, and constantly pouring 
in a murderous fire. It was earthworks on land against old-fashioned wooden 
ships on the water ; but the ships won, and the forts surrendered. A small 
flotilla of rebel gunboats came to the assistance of the forts, but were quickly 
repulsed by the heavy fire from the ships. 

The next year saw much naval activity in many quarters. The blockade 
of all Southern ports was rigorously maintained, and there were some exciting 
engagements between the national ships and blockade runners. On the 
Cumberland, Ohio, Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers the gunboats of Foote 
and Porter greatly aided the land forces, in the campaigns against Fort Henry 
and Fort Donelson, at Island No. lo, and Vicksburg. Roanoke Island and 
New Berne, on the Carolina coast, were taken by a combined naval and military 
e.xpedition. 

One of the most striking events of the war was the entrance of the Mississippi 
and capture of New Orleans by Admiral Farragut. He had a fleet of forty 
vessels, all told. Opposed to him were two great and strong land forts, Jackson 
and St. Philip, one on each side of the river, mounting two hundred and twenty- 
five guns. From one to the other stretched a ponderous iron chain, completely 
barring the passage, and beyond this was a fleet of iron-clad gun-boats, fire- 
ships, etc. Military and naval authorities scouted the idea that Farragut's 
wooden ships could ever fight their way through. But Farragut quietly scouted 
the authorities. Making his way up to within range of the forts he began a 
bombardment. On the first day his guns threw 2000 shells at the enemy. 
A huge fire-raft was sent against him, but his ships avoided it and it passed 
harmlessly by. Another was sent down that night, a floating mountain of flame. 
But one of Farragut's captains deliberately ran his ship into it, turned a hose 
upon it, and towed it out of the way ! 

For a week the tremendous bombardment was kept up, 16,800 shells being 
thrown at the forts. Then Farragut cut the chain, and started to run the fiery 
gauntlet of the forts with his fleet. Before daylight one morning the mortar- 
boats opened a furious fire, under cover of which the ships steamed straight up 
the river. The forts opened on them with every gun, a perfect storm of shot 
and shell, and the ships replied with full broadsides. Five hundred cannon 
were thundering. One ship was disabled and dropped back. The rest swept 
on In a cloud of flame. Before they were past the forts, fire-ships came down 
upon them, and iron-clad gunboats attacked them. The "Varuna," Captain 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



i6r 



Boggs, was surrounded by five rebel gunboats, and sank them all. As the last 
of them sank, a sixth, a huge iron-clad ram, came rushing upon the "Varuna." 
Boggs saw he could not escape it, so he turned the " Varuna " so as to receive 
the blow squarely amidships. The ram crushed her like an egg-shell, and in a 
few minutes she sank. But her fearful broadsides, at such close range, riddled 
the ram, and the two went down together. In an hour and a half, eleven rebel 
gunboats were sent to the bottom, and the fleet was past the forts. Next 




CUbHINGS I..\SX SHOT. 

A stirring incident of the Civil War that happened during Pickett's famous charge at Gettysburg, when Lieutenaot 

Gushing, being mortally wounded, reached up, fired his gun, and then expired. 



morning Farragut raised the national flag above the captured city of New 
Orleans. 

This tremendous conflict was not, however, the most significant of that 
year. There was another which, in a single hour, revolutionized the art of 
naval warfare. When, at the outbreak of the war, the Norfolk Navy-yard had 
been destroyed to keep it from falling into rebel hands, one ship partially escaped 
the flames. This was the great frigate " Merrimac," probably the finest ship in 
II 



i62 THE ''MONITOR" AND "MERRIMAC" 

the whole navy. The Confederates took her hull, which remained uninjured, 
and covered it completely with a sloping roof of iron plates four inches thick, 
backed with heavy timbers, put a great iron ram at her bow, and fitted her with 
large guns and powerful engines. Then, to protect her further, she was coated 
thickly with tallow and plumbago. She was regarded as entirely invulnerable 
to cannon-shot, and her builders believed she would easily destroy all ships sent 
against her and place New York and all Northern seaports at the mercy of hei 
guns. At the same time a curious little craft was built, hurriedly enough, in 
New York. It was designed by John Ericsson, and was called the " Monitor." 
It consisted of a hull nearly all submerged, its flat iron deck only a few inches 
above the water, and upon this a circular iron tower, which was turned round and 
round by machinery and which carried two large guns. Naval experts laughed 
at the "cheese-box on a plank," as they called it, and thought it unworthy of 
serious consideration. 

A REVOLUTION IN NAVAL WARFARE. 

At noon of Saturday, March 8, the mighty " Merrimac," a floating fortress 
of iron, came down the Elizabeth River to where the National fleet lay in 
Hampton Roads. The frigate " Congress " fired upon her, but she paid no 
attention to it, but moved on to the sloop-of-war " Cumberland," crushed her side 
in with a blow of her ram, riddled her with cannon-balls, and sent her to the 
bottom. The solid shot from the " Cumberland's " ten-inch guns glanced from 
the " Merrimac's " armor, harmless as so many peas. Then the monster turned 
back to the " Congress " and destroyed her. Next she attacked the frigate 
" Minnesota " and drove her aground, and then retired for the night, intending 
the next day to return, destroy the entire fleet, and proceed northward to 
bombard New York. 

That night the " Monitor " arrived. She had been hurriedly completed. 
She had come down from New York in a storm, and was leaking and her 
machinery was out of order. She was not in condition for service. But she 
was all that lay between the " Merrimac " and the boundless destruction at 
which she aimed. So she anchored at the side of the " Minnesota " and waited 
for daylight. It came, a beautiful Sunday morning ; and down came the huge 
" Merrimac" to continue her deadly work. Out steamed the tiny "Monitor" 
to meet her. The " Merrimac " sought to ignore her, and attacked the " Minne- 
Ota." But the "Monitor" would not be ignored. Captain Worden ran hef 
alongside the "Merrimac," so that they almost touched, and hurled his i6o-lb. 
shot at the iron monster as rapidly as the two guns could be worked. 
Those shots, at that range, told, as all the broadsides of the frigates had not. 
The "Merrimac's" armor began to yield, while her own firing had no effect 
upon the " Monitor." It was seldom she could hit the little craft at all, and 
when she did the shots glanced off without harm. Five times she tried to 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 163 

ram the "Monitor," but the latter eluded her. A sixth time she tried it, and 
the "Monitor" stood still and let her come on. The great iron beak that 
had crushed in the side of the "Cumberland " merely glanced on the "Moni- 
tor's " armor and glided upon her deck. The " Merrimac " was so lifted 
and tilted as to expose the unarmored part of her hull to the "Monitor's" 
deadly fire, while the "Monitor" quickly slid out from under her, uninjured. 
Then the " Merrimac " retreated up the river, and her career was ended. She 
was a mere wreck. But the " Monitor," though struck by twenty-two heavy 
shots, was practically uninjured. The only man hurt on the "Monitor" was 
the gallant Captain Worden. He was looking through the peep-hole when one 
of the " Merrimac's" last shots struck squarely just outside. He was stunned 
by the shock and half-blinded by splinters ; but his first words on regaining 
consciousness were, " Have we saved the ' Minnesota ' ? " 

The "Monitor" had saved the "Minnesota," and all the rest of the fleet, 
and probably many Northern cities. But, more than that, she had, in that grim 
duel, revolutionized naval warfare. In that hour England saw her great ships 
of the line condemned. The splendid frigates, with their tiers of guns, were 
thenceforth out of date and worthless. The "cheese-box on a plank" in a 
single day had vanquished all the navies of the world. 

The success of Farragut in passing the Mississippi forts led Dupont, in 
April, 1863, to attempt in Hke manner to enter Charleston harbor ; but in vain. 
The fire from the forts was too fierce, and his fleet was forced to fall back with 
heavy losses. But in August, 1864, Farragut repeated his former exploit at 
Mobile. Forming his ships in line of battle, he stood in the rigging of the 
" Hartford," glass in hand, and directed their movements. As Dupont had done 
at Port Royal, he swept round and round in a fiery ellipse. At a critical point in 
the battle the lookout reported, "Torpedoes ahead !" A cry arose to stop the ship. 
"Go ahead! Damn the torpedoes!" roared the great Admiral, and the ship 
went on. Then the huge iron ram "Tennessee" came forward, to crush them 
as the "Merrimac" had crushed the "Cumberland." But Farragut, with 
sublime audacity, turned the bow of his wooden ship upon her and ran her 
down. Thus the Mobile forts were silenced and the harbor cleared. Nor 
must the storming of Fort Fisher be forgotten. The first attack was made in 
December, 1864. Admiral Porter bombarded the place furiously, and then 
General Butler attempted to take it with land forces. He failed, and returned 
to Fortress Monroe, saying the place could not be taken. But Porter thought 
otherwise, and remained" at his post with his fleet. General Terry then went 
down with an army. Porter renewed the bombardment, the fort was captured, 
and the last port of the Confederacy was closed. 

While the National navy was thus carrying all before it along the coast, 
the Confederates were active elsewhere. Their swift, armed cruisers, fitted out 



I > 








I^ra^^^ l.y \\ . i:. Davis. 

PICKETT'S RETURN FROM HIS FAMOUS CHARGE 

At (Gettysburg, (ieneral Pi. ke(t, atler his fanntus charL^e. which cunuTiaiided I lie admiration of bdth sides, reported 
m ( Ieneral Let, •' (ieneral, rny noble divisiun is swept away." 



",v,j •■< y-^t^^m^ 



B: 



■>%Ji^ 




Drawn b\' J. Steeple Davis 



SHERMAN'S THREE SCOUTS 



' Setting out at night they paddled continuously down the river until daylight, when they ran the boat among the 
reeds and remained in hiding until night came again.'' 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 165 

in English ports, scoured the seas and preyed upon American commerce every- 
where, until the American merchant flag was almost banished from the ocean. 
The most famous of all these cruisers was the "Alabama," commanded by 
Raphael Semmes. During her career she destroyed more than ten million 
dollars' worth of American shipping. For a long time her speed and the skill 
and daring of her commander kept her out of the hands of the American navy. 
But at last, in June, 1864, Captain Winslow, with the ship " Kearsarge," came 
up with her in the neutral harbor of Cherbourg, France. Determined to make 
an end of her, he waited, just outside the harbor, for her to come out. Semmes 
soon accepted the challenge, and the duel occurred on Sunday, June 19. The 
shore was crowded with spectators, and many yachts and other craft came out, 
bearing hundreds anxious to see the battle. The vessels were not far from 
equal in strength. But the "Kearsarge" had two huge eleven-inch pivot guns, 
that made awful havoc on the "Alabama." The "Alabama," on the other 
hand, had more gruns than the " Kearsarge." But the famous cruiser's time 
had come. As the two ships slowly circled round and round, keeping up a 
constant fire, every shot from the " Kearsarge " seemed to find its mark, while 
those of the "Alabama" went wide. And soon the "Alabama" sank, leaving 
the "Kearsarge " scarcely injured. 

A volume might be filled with accounts of notable exploits of the navy 
which there is not room even to mention here. But one more must be named, 
so daring and so novel was it. In April, 1864, the great iron-clad ram, "Albe- 
marle," was completed by the Confederates and sent forth to drive the Nadonal 
vessels from the sounds and harbors of the North Carolina coast. She came 
down the Roanoke River and boldly attacked the fleet, destroying one ship at 
the first onset and damaging others, while showing herself almost invulnerable. 
It was feared that she would actually succeed in raising the blockade, and 
extraordinary efforts were made to destroy her, but without avail. 

At last the job was undertaken by a young officer, Lieutenant Cushing, 
who had already distinguished himself by his daring. He took a small steam 
launch, manned by himself and fifteen others, armed with a howitzer, and 
carrying a large torpedo. The "Albemarle" was at her dock at Plymouth, 
some miles up the river, and both banks of the narrow stream were closely 
lined with pickets and batteries. ■ On a dark, stormy night the launch steamed 
boldly up the river and got within a short distance of the " Albemarle " before 
it was seen by the pickets. Instantly the alarm was given, and a hail of bullets 
fell upon the launch, doing, however, little harm. Cushing headed straight foi 
the huge iron-clad, shouting at the top of his voice, in bravado, " Get off the 
ram ! We're going to blow you up ! " Running the launch up till its bow 
touched the side of the "Albemarle," he thrust the torpedo, at the end of a 
pole, under the latter and fired it. The explosion wrecked the "Albemarle" 



1 66 NAVAL ARCHITECTURE REVOLUTIONIZED. 

and sank her. The launch was also wrecked, and the sixteen men took to the 
water and sought to escape by swimming. All were, however, captured by the 
Confederates, save four. Of these, two were drowned, and the other two — 
one of them being Gushing himself — reached the other shore and got safely 
back to the fleet. 

We have said that in the spring of 1861 there were only 42 vessels in com 
mission in the navy. There were also 27 serviceable ships not in commission, 
and 2 1 unserviceable, or 90 in all. During the four years of the war there were 
built and added to the navy 125 unarmored and 68 armored vessels, most of the 
latter being of the "Monitor" type. A few figures regarding some of the en- 
gagements will give a vivid idea of the manner in which the ships fought. In 
the futile attack of the iron-clads on the forts in Charleston harbor, April 7, 1863, 
nine vessels took part, using 23 guns and firing 139 times, at from 500 to 2100 
yards range. They hit Fort Wagner twice, Fort Moultrie 12 times, and Fort 
Sumter 55 times, doing little damage. Against them the forts used ']'] guns, 
firing 2229 times, and. hitting the vessels 520 times, but doing little damage 
except to one monitor, which was svmk. In the second bombardment of Fort 
Fisher 21,716 projectiles, solid shot and shell, were thrown by the fleet. 

But the most important thing achieved was the entire transformation effected 
in naval science. Hitherto the war-ship had been simply an armed merchant- 
ship, propelled by sails or, latterly, by steam, carrying a large number of small 
guns. American inventiveness made it, after the duel of the "Monitor" and 
'■'■ Merrimac," a floating fortress of iron or steel, carrying a few enormously heavy 
guns. The glory of the old line-of-battle ship, with three or four tiers of guns 
on each side and a big cloud of canvas overhead, firing rattling broadsides, and 
manoeuvring to get and hold the weather-gauge of the enemy — all that was 
relegated to the past forever. In its place came the engine of war, with little 
pomp and circumstance, but with all the resources of science shut within its ugly, 
black iron hull. 

John Paul Jones, with his "Bon Homme Richard," struck the blow that 
made universal the law of neutrals' rights. Hull, with the " Constitution," send- 
ing a British frigate to the bottom, showed what Yankee ingenuity in sighdng 
guns could do. Ericsson and Worden, with the " Monitor," sent wooden navies 
to the hulk-yard and ushered in the era of iron and steel fighting-engines. 
These are the three great naval events of a century. 

One of the most thrilling events in naval history occurred in a time of 
peace. It was in the harbor of Apia, Samoa, in March, 1889. A great storm 
struck the shipping and destroyed nearly every vessel there. Three German 
war-ships were wrecked. One English war-ship, by herculean efforts, was 
saved. Two American war-ships were wrecked, and one was saved after being 
run on the beach. This was the " Nipsic." The wrecked vessels were the 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 167 

"Trenton " and the " Vandalia." The combined strength of their engines and 
anchors was not enough to keep them from being driven upon the fateful reefs. 
The "VandaHa" was already stranded and pounding to pieces, and the 
"Trenton" was drifting down upon her. "Suddenly," says a witness of the 
scene, "the Stars and Stripes were seen flying from the gaff of the 'Trenton.' 
Previous to this no vessel in the harbor had raised a flag, as the storm was 
raging so furiously at sunrise that that ceremony was neglected. It seemed now 
as if the gallant ship knew she was doomed, and had determined to go down 
with the flag of her country floating above the storm. Presently the last faint 
ray of daylight faded away, and night came down upon the awful scene. The 
storm was still raging with as much fury as at any time during the day. The 
poor creatures who had been clinging for hours to the rigging of the ' Vandalia ' 
were bruised and bleeding, but they held on with the desperation of men who 
hang by a thread between life and death. The ropes had cut the flesh of their 
arms and legs, and their eyes were blinded by the salt spray which swept over 
them. Weak and exhausted as they were, they would be unable to stand the 
terrible strain much longer. They looked down upon the angry water below 
them, and knew that they had no strength left to battle with the waves. Their 
final hour seemed to be upon them. The great black hull of the ' Trenton ' 
could be seen through the darkness, almost ready to crush into the stranded 
* Vandalia ' and grind her to atoms. Suddenly a shout was borne across the 
waters. The 'Trenton' was cheering the ' Vandalia.' The sound of 450 
voices broke upon the air and was heard above the roar of the tempest. ' Three 
cheers for the " Vandalia ! " ' was the cry that warmed the hearts of the dying 
men in the rigging. The shout died away upon the storm, and there arose from 
the quivering masts of the sunken ship a response so feeble that it was scarcely 
heard on shore. The men who felt that they were looking death in the face 
aroused themselves to the effort and united in a faint cheer to the flagship. 
Those who were standing on shore listened in silence, for that feeble cry was 
the saddest they had ever heard. Every heart was melted to pity. ' God help 
them ! ' was passed from one man to another. The sound of music next came 
across the water. The ' Trenton's ' band was playing ' The Star Spangled 
Banner.' The thousand men on sea and shore had never before heard strains 
of music at such a time as this." And so the good ships went to wreck, and 
many a life was lost ; but a standard of endurance and of valor was there set up 
that shall command the reverence and wonder of the world as long as time shall 
endure. 

During fifteen years of peace, following the War of the Rebellion, the navy 
was much neglected. No new ships were built, and the old ones fell into decay. 
In 1881, however, William H. Hunt, Secretary of the Navy appointed an 
Advisorv Board to plan the building of a new navy adequate to the needs of the 



i68 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

nation. From the deliberations of this Board and its successor, appointed 
by Secretary Chandler, sprang the splendid new fleet. The Board recom- 
mended the construction of four steel vessels : the "Chicago," of 4500 tons 
displacement; the "Boston" and "Atlanta," of 3189 tons displacement each, 
and the "Dolphin," of 1485 tons displacement. The dates of the acts author- 
izing these vessels were August 5, 1882, and March 3, 1883, and the contracts 
were taken for all four vessels by John Roach & Sons in July, 1883. 

The pioneer of the new steel navy was the " Dolphin." Although classed 
as a " dispatch boat " in the Navy Register, she has well earned the title of a 
first-class cruiser, and would be so classed if she had the tonnage displacement, 
since she made a most successful cruise around the world, traversing 52,000 
miles of sea without a single mishap. The " Dolphin" was launched April 21, 
and she was finished in November, 1884, and although no material changes 
were made in her she was kept in continuous service for nearly six years. 
After her trip around Cape Horn, and after ten months hard cruising, she was 
thoroughly surveyed, and there was not a plate displaced, nor a rivet loosened, 
nor a timber strained, nor a spar out of gear. At the end of her cruise around 
the world she was pronounced "the stanchest dispatch-boat in any navy of the 
world." 

The "Dolphin" is a single-screw vessel of the following dimensions: 
Length over all, 265^ feet; breadth of beam, 32 feet; mean draught, 14^ 
feet; displacement, 1485 tons. Her armament consists of two four-inch rapid- 
firing guns ; two six-pounder rapid-firing guns ; four forty-seven-millimeter 
Hotchkiss revolving cannon, and two Catling guns. She is also fitted with 
torpedo tubes. Her cost, exclusive of her guns, was $315,000. Her comple- 
ment of crew consists of 10 officers and 98 enlisted men. 

The first four vessels were called the "A, B, C, and D of the New Navy," 
because of the first letters of their names — the " Atlanta," " Boston," " Chicago," 
and "Dolphin." The "Atlanta" and "Boston" are sister ships — that is, they 
were built from the same designs and their plates, etc., were moulded from the 
same patterns and they carry the same armament — hence a description of one 
is a description of the other. They followed the "Dolphin" in service, the 
"Atlanta " being launched on October 9, 1884, and the " Boston " on December 
4, 1884. The "Atlanta" cost $619,000 and the "Boston" $617,000. The 
official description of these vessels is that they "are central superstructure, 
single-deck, steel cruisers." Their dimensions are : Length over all, 283 feet; 
breadth of beam, 42 feet ; mean draught, 1 7 feet ; displacement, 3 1 89 tons ; 
sail area, 10,400 square feet. The armament of each consists of two eight-inch 
and six six-inch breech-loading rifles ; two six-pounder, two two-pounder, and two 
one-pounder rapid-firing guns ; two 47-millimeter and two 37-millimeter Hotch- 
kiss revolving cannon, two Catling guns, and a set of torpedo-firing tubes. 



BUILDING A NEW NAVY. 169 

Larger and finer still is the " Chicago," the flagship of the fleet, which was 
launched on December 5, 1885. She was the first vessel of the navy to have 
heavy guns mounted in half turrets, her four eight-inch cannon being carried on 
the spar-deck in half turrets built out from the ship's side, the guns being 
twenty-four and a-half feet above the water and together commanding the entire 
horizon. There are six six-inch guns in the broadside ports of the gun-deck 
and a six-inch gun on each bow. There are also two five-inch guns aft in the 
after portion of the cabin. Her secondary battery is two Catlings, two six- 
pounders, two one-pounders, two 47-milHmeter revolving cannon, and two 
37-millimeter revolving cannon. 

This auspicious start being made, the work of building the new navy went 
steadily on. Next came the protected cruisers "Baltimore," "Charleston," 
" Newark," " San Francisco," and " Philadelphia," big steel ships, costing from 
a million to nearly a million and a half dollars each. Much smaller cruisers, or 
gunboats, were the "Yorktown," "Concord," and "Bennington," and, smallest 
of all, the " Petrel." All these ships, though varying in size, are of the same 
general type. They are not heavily armored, and are not regarded as regular 
battle-ships, yet could doubtless give a good account of themselves in any 
conflict. They are chiefly intended, however, as auxiliaries to the real fighters, 
and as cruisers, commerce destroyers, etc. 

The "Vesuvius," launched in April, 1888, is a "dynamite cruiser," a 
small, swift vessel, carrying three huge guns, each of fifteen inches bore, pointing 
directly forward and upward. From these, charges of dynamite are to be fired 
by compressed air. The " Cushing " is a swift torpedo boat, with three tubes 
for discharging the deadly missiles. It was launched in 1890, and named after 
the intrepid destroyer of the "Albemarle," whose feat has already been 
described. The "Stiletto" is a very small, wooden torpedo boat, of very 
great speed. 

The new navy also contains a number of vessels intended for coast-defense, 
heavily armored for hard fighting. The "Monterey" is a vessel of the 
"Monitor" type invented by Ericsson. It has two turrets, or barbettes, each 
carrying two twelve-inch guns, and protected by from eleven to thirteen inches 
of armor. The bow is provided with a ram. The " Puritan " is a vessel of 
similar design, with fourteen inches of armor. Besides the four big guns there 
is a secondary battery of twelve rapid-firing guns, four Hotchkiss revolving 
cannon, and four GatHnsf mms. The " Miantonomah " is another double- 
turreted monitor. Her four ten-inch rifles have an effective range of thirteen 
miles, and she has a powerful secondary battery. Her big guns can send a five 
hundred-pound bolt of metal through twenty inches of armor, and she is herself 
heavily armored. This is a singularly powerful battle-ship, and would probably 



170 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



prove a match for any waf ship in the world. In 1897 the Navy Department 
officials decided to paint these and every cruiser and battle-ship olive green in 
case of war. 

The illfated " Maine," Ipst in Havana harbor February, 1898, was a heavily- 
armored cruiser, and, while intended for seagoing, was really a battle-ship. She 
had eleven inches of armor and carried four ten-inch riHes, besides numerous 
smaller guns. The " Texas " is a similar ship. The " Detroit," " Montgomery," 
and " Marblehead" are small, partially armored cruisers. The " New York" is 
a mighty armored cruiser, of 8,150 tons displacement, and is built on the most 




"CHICAGO," U. S. N., ONE OF THE "WHITE SQUADRON" WAR SHIPS. 



approved pattern for offensive and defensive power, endurance and speed. She 
is 380 feet 6^ inches long; steams 20 knots per hour; can go 13,000 miles 
without coaling ; has from six to eight inches of armor, and carries six eight-inch 
and twelve four-inch rifles, and numerous smaller guns. The " Brooklyn," like 
the "New York," has 16,500 indicated horse power, is armored and designed on 
the same lines, with 1,000 tons more displacement. 

The "Raleigh" and "Cincinnati" are protected cruisers of 3,183 tons dis- 
placement, and 10,000 horse power; while the "Olympia," of similar construction, 
has 5,500 tons displacement and 13,500 horse power. 



THE ADVANCE OF NAVAL SCIENCE. 171 

The " Iowa" is an armored battle-ship of i i-i296 tons displacement ^nd 1 1,000 
indicated horse-power, and of the same class are the "Oregon," " Massachusetts " 
and "Indiana," each of 10,200 tons displacement and 9,000 horse-power. 

RECENT GROWTH OF OUR NAVY. 

To our fleet of nineteen torpedo boats and destroying crafts were added, 
in 1897, three torpedo boats with a speed of thirty knots an hour, and six of 
lesser speed. Among the coast-defense vessels the ram " Katahdin," with a 
particularly ugly beak at the bow, deserves to be noted. Beyond a small 
secondary battery, she depends for offensive force upon her ability to ram a foe ; 
to accomplish this purpose she can be submerged until only her turtle-back, 
funnel and ventilating shafts, all of which are armored, remain above water. 

In 1898 the growth of our navy was greatly enhanced by the war with 
Spain. Early in April at Newport News the "Kearsarge " and the "Kentucky," 
the largest battle-ships in our navy, each of 11,525 tons displacement, were 
launched, and in May the "Alabama," a sister ship of the two just mentioned, was 
launched at Cramps' ship-yard. Two other battle-ships of the same size and 
pattern — namely, the "Illinois" and "Wisconsin" — are in course of construction 
at Newport News and San Francisco respectively. Our Government purchased 
in April from Brazil the two excellent cruisers, the "Amazonas" and "Abrouill," 
which names were changed to " New Orleans " and "Albany." 

The "Amazonas" was delivered to the United States Battle-ship "San Fran- 
cisco" on March 18, 1898, but the "Abrouill," which is a duplicate of the "Ama- 
zonas," was not completed until several months later. These foreign sisters are 
armed with guns in all respects of the best modern type. Their length is 330 feet; 
43 feet 9 inches beam ; draft 1 6 feet 10 inches, with a displacement of 3450 tons ; 
and a speed of about nineteen knots per hour. They are both built of steel, 
sheathed with teak and coppered, and enjoy the distinction of being the first 
sheathed ships in our navy. The cost to our Government for the two ships was 
$2,500,000. Numerous other ships of lesser importance were added, including 
the armored mercantile cruisers into which the magnificent ocean greyhounds 
"St. Paul," "St. Louis," "Paris" and others were transformed. Many private 
yachts were tendered by wealthy citizens and accepted. Congress also made 
appropriations for the building of several new battle-ships, torpedo boats and 
torpedo-boat destroyers, on which work was promptly begun. 

All the great nations of the earth are increasing their navies as never before, 
and it is safe to say the United States is rapidly awakening to the importance of 
placing itself among the great naval powers of the earth. In truth, the war with 
Spain has already placed us among the first. The battles of Manila and Santiago 
stand as marvels of naval warfare ; they entitle American seamen to the highest 
rank for marksmanship, intelligence and bravery. 




172 



REVIEW OF UNION ARMIES AT WASHINGTON. AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR. 




MRS. GRANT VISITING GENERAL GRANT 

This incident orcurred a( City Point, below Kichni.Mui, near tlie c!o-.e of the War, in 1H64. 



CHAPTER IX. 
THE QREAT IMORXHWEST. 



BY ALBERT SHAW, PH.D., 
Editor " Untiew of Reviews," formerly editor of " Minneapolis Tribune' 



"Northwest" is a shifting, uncertain designation. The term has been used 
to cover the whole stretch of country from Pittsburg to Puget Sound, north of 
the Ohio River and the thirty-seventh parallel of latitude. Popularly it signified 
the old Northwestern Territory — including Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, and 

Wisconsin — until about the time of the 
Civil War. In the decade following the 
war, Illinois and Iowa were largely in the 
minds of men who spoke of the Northwest. 
From 1870 to 1880, Iowa, Kansas, North- 
ern Missouri, and Nebraska constituted 
the most stirring and favored region — the 
Northwest par excellence. But the past 
decade has witnessed a remarkable devel- 
opment in the Dakotas ; and Minnesota, 
North and South Dakota, and Montana, 
with Iowa and Nebraska, are perhaps the 
States most familiarly comprised in the idea 
of the Northwest. These States are really 
in the heart of the continent — midway 
between oceans ; and perhaps by common 
consent the term Northwest will, a decade 
hence, have moved on and taken firm 
possession of Oregon, Washington, Idaho, 
and Wyoming, while ultimately Alaska may succeed to the designation. 

But for the present the Northwest is the great arable wedge lying between 
the Mississippi and the Missouri Rivers, and between the Missouri River and 
the Rocky Mountains. It is a region that is pretty clearly defined upon a map 

173 




AUERT SHAW, PH.D. 



174 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

showing physical characteristics. For the most part, it is a region of great 
natural fertility, of regular north-temperate climate, of moderate but sufficient 
rainfall, of scant forests and great prairie expanses, and of high average altitude 
without mountains. In a word, it is a region that was adapted by nature to the 
cultivation of the cereals and leading crops of the temperate zone without 
arduous and time-consuming processes for subduing the wilderness and redeem- 
ing the soil. 

This "New Northwest," in civilization and in all its significant character- 
istics, is the creature of the vast impulse that the successful termination of the 
war gave the nation. No other extensive area was ever settled under similar 
conditions. The homestead laws, the new American system of railroad build- 
ing, and the unprecedented demand for staple food products in the industrial 
centres at home and abroad, peopled the prairies as if by magic. Until 1870, 
fixing the date very roughly, transportation facilities followed colonization. The 
railroads were built to serve and stimulate a traffic that already existed. The 
pioneers had done a generation's work before the iron road overtook them. In 
the past two decades all has been changed. The railroads have been the 
pioneers and colonizers. They have invaded the solitary wilderness, and the 
population has followed. Much of the land has belonged to the roads, through 
subsidy grants, but the greater part of the mileage has been laid without the 
encouragement of land subsidies or other bonuses, by railway corporations that 
were willing to look to the future for their reward. 

It would be almost impossible to overestimate the significance of this 
method of colonization. Within a few years it has transformed the buffalo 
ranees into the world's most extensive fields of wheat and corn. A region 
comprising northern and western Minnesota, and the two Dakotas, which con- 
tributed practically nothing to the country's wheat supply twelve or fifteen 
years ago, has, by this system of railroad colonization, reached an annual 
production of 100,000,000 bushels of wheat alone — about one-fourth of the crop 
of the entire country. In like manner, parts of western Iowa, Nebraska, and 
Kansas, that produced no corn before 1875 or 1880, are now the centre of 
corn-raising, and yield many hundreds of millions of bushels annually. These 
regions enter as totally new factors into the world's supply of foods and raw 
materials. A great area of this new territory might be defined that was 
inhabited in 1870 by less than a million people, in 1880 by more than three 
millions, and in 1890 by from six to seven millions. 

Let us imagine a man from the East who has visited the Northwestern 
states and territories at some time between the years 1870 and 1875, and who 
retains a strong impression of what he saw, but who has not been west of 
Chicago since that time, until, in the World's Fair year he determines upon a 
new exploration of Iowa, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Minnesota and Wisconsin. 



THE DAIRY AND LIVE-STOCK FARMS OF TO-DAY. 175 

However well informed he had tried to keep himself through written descrip- 
tions and statistical records of Western progress, he would see what nothing 
but the evidence of his own eyes could have made him believe to be possible. 
Iowa in 1870 was already producing a large crop of cereals, and was inhabited 
by a thriving, though very new, farming population. But the aspect of the 
country was bare and uninviting, except in the vicinity of the older com- 
'munities on the Mississippi River. As one advanced across the State the farm- 
houses were very small, and looked like isolated dry-goods boxes ; there were 
few well-built barns or farm buildings ; and the struggling young cottonwood 
and soft-maple saplings planted in close groves about the tiny houses were so 
slight an obstruction to the sweep of vision across the open prairie that they only 
seemed to emphasize the monotonous stretches of fertile, but uninteresting, 
plain. Now the landscape is wholly transformed. A railroad ride in June 
through the best parts of Iowa reminds one of a ride through some of the 
pleasantest farming districts of England. The primitive " claim shanties " of 
thirty years ago have given place to commodious farm-houses flanked by great 
barns and hay-ricks, and the well-appointed structures of a prosperous agricul- 
ture. In the rich, deep meadows herds of fine-blooded cattle are grazing. 
What was once a blank, dreary landscape is now garden-like and inviting. The 
poor little saplings of the earlier days, which seemed to be apologizing to the 
robust corn-stalks in the neighboring fields, have grown on that deep soil into 
great, spreading trees. One can easily imagine, as he looks off in ever}'^ direc- 
tion and notes a wooded horizon, that he is — as in Ohio, Indiana, or Kentucky — 
in a farming region which has been cleared out of primeval forests. There are 
many towns I might mention which twenty-five years ago, with their new, wooden 
shanties scattered over the bare face of the prairie, seemed the hottest place on 
earth as the summer sun beat upon their unshaded streets and roofs, and 
seemed the coldest places on earth when the fierce blizzards of winter swept 
unchecked across the prairie expanses. To-day the density of shade in those 
towns is deemed of positive detriment to health, and for several years past 
there has been a systematic thinning out and trimming up of the great, cluster- 
ing elms. Trees of from six to ten feet in girth are found everywhere by the 
hundreds of thousands. Each farm-house is sheltered from winter winds by its 
own dense groves. Many of the farmers are able from the surplus growth of 
wood upon their estates to provide themselves with a large and regular supply 
of fuel. If I have dwelt at some length upon this picture of the transformation 
of the bleak, grain-producing Iowa prairies of thirty years ago into the dairy and 
live-stock farms of to-day, with their fragrant meadows and ample groves, it is 
because the picture is one which reveals so much as to the nature and meaning 
of Northwestern progress. 

Not a little has been written regarding the rapid destruction of the vast 



176 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

white-pine forests with which Nature has covered large districts of Michigan, 
Wisconsin, and Minnesota. It is true that this denudation has progressed at a 
rate with which nothing of a Hke character in the history of the world is com- 
parable. It is also true, doubtless, that the clearing away of dense forest areas 
has been attended with some inconvenient climatic results, and particularly with 
some objectionable effects upon the even distribution of rainfall and the regu- 
larity of the flow of rivers. But most persons who have been alarmed at the 
rapidity of forest destruction in the white-pine belt have wholly overlooked the 
great compensating facts. It happens that the white-pine region is not espe- 
cially fertile, and that for some time to come it is not likely to acquire a pros- 
perous agriculture. But adjacent to it and beyond it there was a vast region of 
country which, though utterly treeless, was endowed with a marvelous richness 
of soil and with a climate fitted for all the staple productions of the temperate 
zone. This region embraced parts of Illinois, almost the whole of Iowa, South- 
ern Minnesota, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota, and parts of 
Montana, — a region of imperial extent. Now, it happens that for every acre 
of pine land that has been denuded in Michigan, Northern Wisconsin, and 
Northern Minnesota there are somewhere in the grreat treeless reo^ion further 
south and west two or three new farm-houses. The railroads, pushing ahead 
of settlement out into the open prairie, have carried the white-pine lumber from 
the gigantic sawmills of the Upper Mississippi and its tributaries ; and thus 
millions of acres of land have been brought under cultivation by farmers who 
could not have been housed in comfort but for the proximity of the pine forests. 
The rapid clearing away of timber areas in Wisconsin has simply meant the 
rapid settlement of North and South Dakota, Western Iowa, and Nebraska. 
And the settlement of these treeless regions means the successful growth on 
every farm of at least several hundred trees. Without attempting to be statis- 
tical or exact, we might say that an acre of Northern Minnesota pine trees 
makes it possible for a farmer in Dakota or Nebraska to have a house, farm 
buildings, and fences, with a holding of at least one hundred and sixty acres 
upon which he will successfully cultivate several acres of forest trees of different 
kinds. Even if the denuded pine lands of the region south and west of Lake 
Superior would not readily produce a second growth of dense forest, — which, it 
should be said in passing, they certainly will, — their loss would be far more than 
made good by the universal cultivation of forest trees in the prairie States. It 
is at least comforting to reflect, when the friends of scientific forestry warn us 
aeainst the ruthless destruction of standino- timber, that thus far at least in our 
Western history we have simply been cutting down trees in order to put a roof 
over the head of the man who was invading treeless regions for the purpose of 
planting and nurturing a hundred times as many trees as had been destroyed 
for his benefit 1 There is something almost inspiring in the contemplation of 



EXPANSION OF OUR RAILWA Y SYSTEMS. 177 

iTiillions of families, all the way from Minnesota to Colorado and Texas, living 
in the shelter of these new pine houses and transforming the plains into a shaded 
and fruitful empire. 

The enormous expansion of our railway systems will soon have made it 
quite impossible for any of the younger generation to realize what hardships 
were attendant upon such limited colonization of treeless prairie regions as pre- 
ceded the iron rails. In 1876 I spent the summer in a part of Dakota to which 
a considerable number of hardy but poor farmers had found their way and taken 
up claims. They could not easily procure wood for houses, no other ordinary' 
building material was accessible, and they were living in half-underground 
"dug-outs," so-called. There was much more pleasure and romance in the 
pioneer experiences of my own ancestors a hundred years ago, who were living 
in comfortable log houses with huge fireplaces, and shooting abundant supplies 
of deer and wild turkey in the deep woods of Southern Ohio. The pluck and 
industry of these Dakota pioneers, most of whom were Irishmen and Norwe- 
gians, won my heartiest sympathy and respect. Poor as they were, they main- 
tained one public institution in common — namely, a school, with its place of 
public assemblage. The building had no floor but the beaten earth, and its 
thick walls were blocks of matted prairie turf its roof also being of sods sup- 
ported upon some poles brought from the scanty timber-growth along the 
margin of a prairie river. To-day these poor pioneers are enjoying their reward. 
Their valley is traversed by several railroads ; prosperous villages have sprung 
up ; their lands are of considerable value ; they all live in well-built farm- 
houses ; their shade trees have grown to a height of fifty or sixty feet ; a bust- 
ling and ambitious city, with fine churches, opera houses, electric illumination, 
and the most advanced public educational system, is only a few miles away from 
them. Such transformafions have occurred, not alone in a few spots in Iowa 
and South Dakota, but are common throughout a region that extends from the 
British dominions to the Indian Territory, and from the Mississippi River to the 
Rocky Mountains, — a region comprising more than a half million square miles. 

Naturally the industrial life of these Northwestern communities is based 
solidly upon agriculture. There is, perhaps, hardly any other agricultural 
region of equal extent upon the face of the earth that is so fertile and so well 
adapted for the production of the most necessary articles of human food. 
During the past decade the world's markets have been notably disturbed and 
affected, and profound social changes and political agitations have occurred in 
various remote parts of the earth. It is within bounds to assert that the most 
potent and far-reaching factor in the altered conditions of the industrial world 
during these recent years, has been the sudden invasion and utilization of this 
great new farming region. Most parts of the world which are fairly prosperous 
do not produce staple food supplies in appreciable surplus quantities. Several 



1 78 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

regions which are not highly prosperous sell surplus food products out of their 
poverty rather than out of their abundance. That is to say, the people of 
India and the people of Russia have often been obliged, in order to obtain 
money to pay their taxes and other necessary expenses, to sell and send away 
to prosperous England the wheat which they have needed for hungry' mouths at 
home. They have managed to subsist upon coarser and cheaper food. But in 
our Northwestern States the application of ingenious machinery to the cultiva- 
tion of fertile and virgin soils has within the past twenty-five years precipitated 
upon the world a stupendous new supply of cereals and of meats, produced in 
quantities enormously greater than the people of the Northwestern States 
could consume. These foodstuffs have powerfully affected agriculture in Ire- 
land, England, France, and Germany, and in fact in every other part of the 
accessible and cultivated globe. 

So much has been written of late about the condition of the farmer in these 
regions that it is pertinent to inquire who the Western farmer is. In the old 
States the representative farmer is a man of long training in the difficult and 
honorable art of diversified agriculture. He knows much of soils, of crops and 
their wise rotation, of domestic animals and their breeding, and of a hundred 
distinct phases of the production, the life, and the household economics that 
belong to the traditions and methods of Anglo-Saxon farming. If he is a wise 
man, owning his land and avoiding extravagance, he can defy any condition of 
the markets, and can survive any known succession of adverse seasons. There 
are also many such farmers in the West. But there are thousands of wheat- 
raisers or corn-growers who have followed in the wake of the railway and taken 
up Government or railroad land, and who are not yet farmers in the truest 
and best sense of the word. They are unskilled laborers who have become 
speculators. They obtain their land for nothing, or for a price ranging from 
one dollar and fifty cents to five dollars per acre. They borrow on mortgage 
the money to build a small house and to procure horses and implements and 
seed grain. Then they proceed to put as large an acreage as they can manage 
into a single crop — wheat in the Dakotas, wheat or corn in Nebraska and Kan- 
sas. They speculate upon the chances of a favorable season and a good crop 
safely harvested ; and they speculate upon the chances of a profitable market. 
They hope that the first two crops may render them the possessor of an unin- 
cumbered estate, supplied with modest buildings, and with a reasonable quan- 
tity of machinery and live stock. Sometimes they succeed beyond their antici- 
pations. In many instances the chances go against them. They live on land, 
and the title is invested in them ; but they are using borrowed capital, use it 
unskillfuUy, meet an adverse season or two, lose through foreclosure that which 
has cost them nothing except a year or two of energy spent in what is more 
nearly akin to gambling than to farming, and finally help to swell the great 



IV//0 IS THE WESTERN FARMER? 179 

chorus that calls the world to witness the distress of Western agriculture. It 
cannot be said too emphatically that real agriculture in the West is safe and 
prosperous, and that the unfortunates are the inexperienced persons, usually 
without capital, who attempt to raise a single crop on new land. For many of 
them it would be about as wise to take borrowed money and speculate in wheat 
in the Chicago bucket-shops. 

The great majority, however, of these inexperienced and capital-less wheat 
and corn producers gradually become farmers. It is inevitable, at first, that a 
country opened by the railroads for the express purpose of obtaining the largest 
possible freightage of cereals should for a few seasons be a " single-crop coun- 
try." Often the seed-grain is supplied on loan by the roads themselves. They 
charge " what the traffic will bear." The grain is all, or nearly all, marketed 
through long series of elevators following the tracks, at intervals of a few miles, 
and owned by some central company that bears a close relation to the railroad. 
Thus the corporations which control the transportation and handling of the grain 
in effect maintain for their own advantage ?.n exploitation of the entire regions 
that they traverse, through the first years of settlement. Year by year the 
margin of cultivation extends further West, and the single-crop sort of farming 
tends to recede. The wheat growers produce more barley and oats and flax, 
try corn successfully, introduce live stock and dairying, and thus begin to 
emerge as real farmers. 

Unless this method of Western settlement is comprehended, it is not pos- 
sible to understand the old Grano^er movement and the more recent lesfislative 
conflicts between the farmers of Iowa, Nebraska, Kansas, Minnesota, and the 
Dakotas, on the one hand, and the great transportation and grain-handling cor- 
porations on the other. It was fundamentally a question of the division of 
profits. The railroads had "made" the country : were they entitled to allow 
the farmers simply a return about equal to the cost of production, keeping for 
themselves the difference between the cost and the price in the central markets, 
or were they to base their charges upon the cost of their service, and leave the 
farmers to enjoy whatever profits might arise from the production of wheat or 
corn ? Out of that protracted contest has been developed the principle of the 
public regulation of rates. The position of these communities of farmers with 
interests so similar, forming commonwealths so singularly homogeneous, has 
led to a reliance upon State aid that is altogether unprecedented in new and 
sparsely settled regions, where individualism has usually been dominant, and 
governmental activity relatively inferior. 

But agriculture, while the basis of Northwestern wealth, is not the sole 
pursuit. Transportation has become in these regions a powerful interest, 
because of the vast surplus agricultural product to be carried away, and of the 
great quantities of lumber, coal, salt, and staple supplies in general, to be dis- 



i8o THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

tributed throughout the new prairie communities. The transformation of the 
pine forests into the homes of several million people has, of course, developed 
marvelous sawmill and buildinsf industries ; and the furnishing- of millions of 
new homes has called into beinsf great factories for the making of wooden 
furniture, iron stoves, and all kinds of household supplies. In response to the 
demand for agricultural implements and machinery with which to cultivate five 
hundred million acres of newly utilized wild land, there have come into exist- 
ence numerous oreat establishments for the makinof of machines that have been 
especially invented to meet the peculiarities and exigencies of Western farm 
life. 

Through Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, and Kansas, Indian corn has become a 
greater product in quantity and value than wheat ; while in Wisconsin, Minne- 
sota, and North and South Dakota the wheat is decidedly the preponderant 
crop. Although in addition to oats and barley, which flourish in all the Western 
States, it has been found possible to increase the acreage of maize in the north- 
ern tier, it is now believed that the most profitable alternate crop in the latitude 
of Minneapolis and St. Paul is to be flax. Already a region including parts of 
Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, and the Dakotas has become the most 
extensive area of flax culture in the whole world. The crop has been produced 
simply for the seed, which has supplied large linseed oil factories in Minneapolis, 
Chicago, and various Western places. But now it has been discovered that the 
flax straw, which has heretofore been allowed to rot in the fields as a valueless 
product, can be utilized for a fibre which will make a satisfactory quality of 
coarse linen fabrics. Linen mills have been established in Minneapolis, and it 
is somewhat confidently predicted that in course of time the linen industry of 
that ambitious city will reach proportions even greater than its wonderful flour 
industry, which for a number of years has been without a rival anywhere in the 
world. 

The railroad system of the Northwest has been developed in such a way 
that no one centre may be fairly regarded as the commercial capital of the 
region. Chicago, with its marvelous foresight, has thrown out lines of trave] 
that draw to itself much of the traffic which would seem normally to belong to 
Minneapolis, St. Paul, and Duluth on the north, or to St. Louis and Kansas 
City on the south. But in the region now under discussion, the famous " twin 
cities," Minneapolis and St. Paul, constitute unquestionably the greatest and 
most distinctive centre, both of business and of civilization. They are beauti- 
fully situated, and they add to a long list of natural advantages very many 
equally desirable attractions growing out of the enterprising and ambitious fore- 
thought of the inhabitants. They are cities of beautiful homes, pleasant parks, 
enterprising municipal improvements, advanced educational establishments, and 
varied industrial interests. Each is a distinct urban community, although they 



RADICALISM AND THE TEMPERANCE MOVEMENT. 



i8i 



lie so near together that they constitute one general centre of commerce and 
transportation when viewed from a distance. Their stimulating rivalry has had 
the effect to keep each city alert an4 to prevent a listless, degenerate local 
administration. About the Falls of St. Anthony, at Minneapolis, great manu- 
facturing establishments are grouping themselves, and each year adds to the 
certainty that these two picturesque and charming cities have before them a 
most brilliant civic future. 

The tendency to rely upon united public action is illustrated in the growth 




PASS IN THE MOUNTAINS. 



of Northwestern educational systems. The universities of these common 
wealths are State universities. Professional education is under the State 
auspices and control. The normal schools and the agricultural schools belong 
to the State. The public high school provides intermediate instruction. The 
common district school, supported jointly by local taxation and State subven- 
tion, gives elementary education to the children of all classes. As the towns 
grow the tendency to graft manual and technical courses upon the ordinary 
public school curriculum is unmistakably strong. The Northwest, more than 



i82 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

any other part of the country, is disposed to make every kind of education a 
public function. 

RadicaHsm has flourished in the homogeneous agricultural society of the 
Northwest. In the anti-monopoly conflict there seemed to have survived some 
of the intensity of feeling that characterized the anti-slavery movement; and a 
tinge of this fanatical quality has always been apparent in the Western and 
Northwestern monetary heresies. But it is in the temperance movement that 
this sweep of radical impulse has been most irresistible. It was natural that 
the movement should become political and take the form of an agitation for 
prohibition. The history of prohibition in Iowa, Kansas, and the Dakotas, and 
of temperance legislation in Minnesota and Nebraska, reveals — even better 
perhaps than the history of -the anti-monopoly movement — the radicalism, 
homogeneity, and powerful socializing tendencies of the Northwestern people. 
Between these different agitations there has been in reality no slight degree of 
relationship ; at least their origin is to be traced to the same general conditions 
of society. 

The extent to which a modern community resorts to state action depends 
in no small measure upon the accumulation of private resources. Public or 
organized initiative will be relatively strongest where the impulse to progress is 
positive but the ability of individuals is small. There are few rich men in the 
Northwest. Iowa, great as is the Hawkeye State, has no large city and no large 
fortunes. Of Kansas the same thing may be said. The Dakotas have no rich 
men and no cities. Minnesota has Minneapolis and St. Paul, and Nebraska 
has Omaha; but otherwise these two States are farming communities, without 
large cities or concentrated private capital. Accordingly the recourse to public 
action is comparatively easy. South Dakota farmers desire to guard against 
drought by opening artesian wells for irrigation. They resort to State legisla- 
tion and the sale of county bonds. North Dakota wheat growers are unfortu- 
nate in the failure of crops. They secure seed-wheat through State action and 
their county governments. A similarity of condition fosters associated action, 
and facilitates the progress of popular movements. 

In such a society the spirit of action is intense. If there are few philoso- 
phers, there is remarkable diff'usion of popular knowledge and elementary 
•education. The dry atmosphere and the cold winters are nerve-stimulants, and 
life seems to have a higher tension and velocity than in other parts of the 
country. 

The Northwest presents a series of very interesting race problems. The 
ifirst one, chronologically at least, is the problem that the American Indian pre- 
sents. It is not so long ago since the Indian was in possession of a very large 
portion of the region we are now considering, A number of tribes were gradu- 
ally removed further West, or were assigned to districts in the Indian Territory. 



THE LARGE SCANDINAVIAN ELEMENT OF POPULATION. 



183 



But most of them were concentrated in large reservations in Minnesota. 
Nebraska, North and South Dakota, Montana, and Wyoming. The past few 
years have witnessed the rapid reduction of these reservations, and the adoption 
of a policy which, if carried to its logical conclusion with energy and good faith, 
will at an early date result in the universal education of the children, in the 
abolition of the system of reservations, and in the settlement of the Indian 
families upon farms of their own, as fully enfranchised American citizens. 

The most potent single element of population in the Northwest is of New 
England origin, although more than half of it has found its way into Iowa, 
Minnesota, the Dakotas, Nebraska, and Kansas, by filtration through the inter- 




THE FALLS OF ST 



mediate States of New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, and 
Illinois. But there has also been a vast direct immigration from abroad ; and 
this element has come more largely, by far, from the northern than from the 
central and southern races of Europe. The Scandinavian peninsula and the 
countries about the Baltic and North Seas have supplied the Northwest with a 
population that already numbers millions. From Chicago to Montana there is 
now a population of full Scandinavian origin, which, perhaps, may be regarded 
as about equal in numbers to the population that remains in Sweden and Nor- 
way. In Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota, as well as 
in Northern Iowa and in some parts of Nebraska, there are whole counties 
where the population is almost entirely Scandinavian. Upon all this portion of 



i84 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

the country for centuries to come the Scandinavian patronymics will be as firmly 
fixed as they have been upon the Scotch and English coasts, where the North- 
men entrenched themselves so numerously and firmly about nine hundred or a 
thousand years ago. The Scandinavians in the Northwest become Americans 
with a rapidity unequaled by any other non-English-speaking element. Their 
political ambition is as insatiate as that of the Irish, and they already secure 
offices in numbers far beyond the proportion to which their qualifications would 
entitle them ; for the great majority now come from the lowest classes of 
unskilled labor in Sweden and Norway, rather than from the ranks of the pro- 
fessional classes, the substantial farmers, and the skilled mechanics. But their 
devotion to the American school system, their political aptitude and ambition, 
and their enthusiastic pride in American citizenship are thoroughly hopeful 
traits, and it is generally believed that they will contribute much of strength 
and sturdiness to the splendid race of Northwestern Americans that is to be 
developed in the Upper Mississippi and Missouri Valleys. The Northwestern 
Germans evince a tendency to mass in towns, as in Milwaukee, and to preserve 
intact their language and national traits. 

The large towns of the Northwest are notable for the great numbers of the 
brightest and most energetic of the young business and professional men of 
the East that they contain. While they lack the leisure class and the traditions 
of culture that belong to older communities, they may justly claim a far higher 
percentage of college-bred men and of families of cultivated tastes than belong 
to Eastern towns of like population. The intense pressure of business and 
absorption of private pursuits are, for the present, seeming obstacles to the 
progress of Western communities in the highest things ; but already the zeal 
for public improvements and for social progress in all that pertains to true 
culture is \&ry great. Two decades hence no man will question the quality of 
Northwestern civilization. If the East is losing something of its distinctive 
Americanism through the influx of foreign elements and the decay of its old- 
time farming communities, the growth of the Northwest, largely upon the basis 
o( New England blood and New England ideas, will make full compensation. 

Every nation of the world confronts its own racial or climatic or industrial 
problems, and nowhere is there to be found an ideal state of happiness or virtue 
or prosperity; but all things considered it may well be doubted whether there 
exists any other extensive portion, either of America or of the world, in which 
there is so little of pauperism, of crime, of social inequality, of ignorance, and 
of chafing discontent, as in the agricultural Northwest that lies between Chicago 
and the Rocky Mountains. Schools and churches are almost everywhere flour- 
ishing in this reeion, and the necessities of life are not beyond the reach of any 
element or class. There is a pleasantness, a hospitality, and a friendliness in 
the social life of the Western communities that is certainly not surpassed. 



CHAPTER X. 

DIKKICULXIES WITH FOREIGN POWERS. 




^•j^N a bright spring morning, the date, April 30, 1789, amid 

the booming of cannon, the plaudits of the multitude, and 

the general rejoicing of the people of the whole country, 

Washington had been inaugurated President of the United 

States. That day saw one of the most significant events 

accomplished in the history of the world ; for there in the city 

of New York, where the inauguration took place, a nation was 

born in a day. The old Confederacy was gone : the new nation stood forth 

"like a giant ready to run a race." And what a race it has run since that time 

History has told. 

It would be strange indeed if the peace that then brooded over the country 
was to become unbroken, perpetual. No nation up to that time had made such 
a record, which might well be considered as heralding the Millennium ; and the 
United States was destined to prove no exception to the course marked out by 
all other empires since the government of the State had supplanted that of the 
tribe and clan. The fact is, the seeds of conflict were already sown and were 
destined to bear fruit, both in civil and foreign war. 

THE DIFFICULTY WITH THE BARBARY STATES. 

If the reader will look at any map of Africa he will see on the northern 
coast, defining the southern limits of the Mediterranean, four States, Morocco, 
Algeria, Tunis, and Tripoli, running east and west a distance of 1800 miles. 
These powers had for centuries maintained a state of semi-independency by 
paying tribute to Turkey. But this did not suit Algeria, the strongest and 
most warlike of the North African States; and in the year 1710 the natives 
overthrew the rule of the Turkish Pasha, expelled him from the country, and 
united his office to that of the Dey. The Dey thus governed the country by 
means of a Divan or Council of State chosen from the principal civic function- 
aries. The Algerians, with the other " Barbary States," as the piratical States 
were called, defied the Powers of Europe. France alone successfully resisted 

185 



i86 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

these depredations, but only partially, for after she had repeatedly chastised the 
Algerians, the strongest of the northern piratical States, and had induced the 
Dey to sign a treaty of peace, they would bide their time, and after a time return 
to their bloody work. It was Algiers which was destined to force the United 
States to resort to arms in the defense of its persecuted countrymen ; the result 
is a matter of history. 

The truth is, this conflict was no less irrepressible than that greater conflict 
which a century later deluged the land in blood. For, before the Constitution 
had been adopted, two American vessels flying the flag of thirteen stripes and 
only thirteen stars, instead of the forty-four which now form our national con- 
stellation, while sailing the Mediterranean had fallen a prey to the swift, heavily 
armed Algerian cruisers. The vessels were confiscated and the crews, to the 
number of twenty-one persons, had been held for ransom, for which an enormous 
sum was demanded. 

This sum our Government had been unwilling to pay, as to do so would be to 
establish a precedent not only with Algeria, but with Tunis, Tripoli, and Morocco 
as well, for each of these African piratical States was in league with the others, 
and all had to be separately conciliated. 

But, after all, what else could the Government do ? The country had no 
navy. It could not undertake in improvised ships to go forth and fight the swift, 
heavily armed cruisers of the African pirates — States so strong that the 
commercial nations were glad to win exemption from their depredations by 
annual payments. Why not, then, ransom these American captives by the 
payment of money and construct a navy sufficiently strong to resist their en- 
croachments in the future ? This feeling on the part of the Government was 
shared by the people of the country, and so it was, Congress finally authorized 
the building of six frigates, and by another act empowered President Washing- 
ton to borrow a million of dollars for purchasing peace. Eventually the money 
was paid to all the four Powers, and it was hoped all difficulty was at an end. 
The work of constructing the new war-ships was pushed with expedition, and 
as will be seen, it was well that it was so. 

We are now brought to the year 1800. Tripoli, angry at not receiving as 
much money as was paid to Algiers, declared war against the United States ; 
but now circumstances had changed for the better. For our new navy, a small 
but most efficient one, was completed, and a squadron consisting of the frigates 
"Essex," Captain Bainbridge, the "Philadelphia," the "President," and the 
schooner " Experiment," was in Mediterranean waters. Two Tripolitan cruisers 
lying at Gibraltar on the watch for American vessels, were blockaded by the 
" Philadelphia." Cruising off Tripoli the " Experiment" fell in with a Tripolitan 
cruiser of fourteen guns, and after three hours' hard fighting captured her. The 
Tripolitans lost twenty killed and thirty wounded; this brilliant-, result had a 
marked effect in quieting the turbulent pirates. 



A SPLENDID VICTORY. 



187 



But peace was not yet assured. In 181 5, while this country was at 
war with England, the Dey of Algiers unceremoniously dismissed the 
American Consul and declared war against the United States ; and all 
because he had not received the articles demanded under the tribute treaty. 
This time the Government was well prepared for the issue. The population 
of the country had increased to over eight millions. The military spirit 
of the nation had been aroused by the war with Great Britain, ending in the 
splendid victory at New Orleans under General Jackson. Besides this, the 
navy had been increased and made far more effective. The Administration, 




A RAILROAD BATTERY. 



Vrith Madison at its head, decided to submit to no further extortions from the 
Mediterranean pirates, and the President sent in a forcible message to Congress 
on the subject, taking high American ground. The result was a prompt 
acceptance of the Algerian declaration of war. Events succeeded each other in 
rapid succession. Ships new and old were at once fitted out. On May 15, 18 15, 
Decatur sailed from New York to the Mediterranean. His squadron comprised 
the frigates "Guerriere," " Macedonian," and " Constellation," the new sloop of 
•War "Ontario," and four brigs and two schooners in addition. 

On June 17, the second day after entering the Mediterranean, Decatur 



i88 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

captured the largest frigate in the Algerian navy, having forty-four guns. 'I'ht: 
next day an Algerian brig was taken, and in less than two weeks after his first 
capture Decatur, with his entire squadron, appeared off Algiers. The end had 
come ! The Dey's courage, like that of Bob Acres, oozed out at his fingers* 
ends. The terrified Dey sued for peace, which Decatur compelled him to sign 
on the quarter-deck of the " Guerriere." In this treaty it was agreed by the 
Dey to surrender all prisoners, pay a heavy indemnity, and renounce all tribute 
from America in the future. Decatur also secured indemnity from Tunis and 
Tripoli for American vessels captured under the guns of their forts by British 
cruisers during the late war. 

This ended at once and forever the payment of tribute to the piratical 
States of North Africa. All Europe, as well as our'own country, rang with the 
splendid achievements of our navy ; and surely the stars and stripes had never 
before floated more proudly from the mast-head of an American vessel, and they 
are flying as proudly to-day. 

KING BOMBA BROUGHT TO TERMS. 

It was seventeen years later, in 1832, under the administration of General 
Jackson, that one of the most interesting cases of difficulty with a foreign power 
arose. As with Algeria and Tripoli, so now, our navy was resorted to for the 
purpose of exacting reparation. This time the trouble was with Italy, or .rather 
that part of Italy known at that time as the Kingdom of Naples, which had been 
wrested from Spain by Napoleon, who placed successively his brother Joseph 
and Murat, Prince, Marshal of France, and brother-in-law of Napoleon, on the 
throne of Naples and the two Sicilies. During the years 1809-12 the Neapolitan 
Government under Joseph and Murat successively had confiscated numerous 
American ships with their cargoes. The total amount of the American claims 
against Naples, as filed in the State Department, when Jackson's Administration 
assumed control, was ^1,734,994. They were held by various insurance com- 
panies and by citizens, principally of Baltimore. Demands for the payment of 
these claims had from time to time been rnade by our Government, but Naples 
had always refused to settle them. 

Jackson and his Cabinet took a decided stand, and determined that the 
^ Neapolitan Government, then in the hands of Ferdinand II — subsequently nick- 
named Bomba because of his cruelties — should make due reparation for the 
losses sustained by American citizens. The Hon. John Nelson, of Frederick, 
Maryland, was appointed Minister to Naples and ordered to insist upon a 
settlement. Commodore Daniel Patterson,* who aided in the defense of New 

* Daniel T. Patterson was born on Long Island, New York, March 6, 1786; was appointed 
midshipman in the navy, 1800 ; was attached to the frigate " Philadelphia" when she ran upon a 
reef near Tripoli ; was captured and a prisoner until 1805 ; was made lieutenant in 1807 and 



KING BO MB A BROUGHT TO TERMS. 



189 



Orleans in 181 5, was put in command of the Mediterranean squadron and 
ordered to cooperate with Minister Nelson in enforcing his demands. But 
Naples persisted in her refusal to render satisfaction, and a warlike demonstra- 
tion was decided upon, the whole matter being placed, under instructions, in the 
hands of Commodore Patterson. 

The entire force at his command consisted of three fifty-gun frigates and 
three twenty-gun corvettes. So as not to precipitate matters too hastily, the 
plan was for three vessels to appear in the Neapolitan waters, one at a time, and 




UNITED STATES MILITARY TELEGRAPH WAGON. 



instructions were given accordingly. The " Brandywine," with Minister Nelson 
on board, went first. Mr. Nelson repeated the demands for a setdement, and 
they were refused : there was nothing in the appearance of a Yankee envoy and 
a single ship to trouble King Bomba and his little kingdom. The "Brandy- 
master-commandant in 1813. In 1814 he won great credit as commander of naval forces at New 
Orleans, and received the thanks of Congress. He commanded the flotilla which destroyed the fort 
and defenses of Lafitte, the pirate. He was made captain in 1815 ; Navy Commissioner, 1828 t<» 
1832, and commanded the Mediterranean Squadron, 1832-1835. He died on August 15, 1839, 
being then in command of the Washington Navy Yard- 



igo THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

wine " cast anchor in the harbor and the humbled Envoy waited patiently foi a 
few days. Then another American flag appeared on the horizon, and the frigate 
"United States" floated into the harbor and came to anchor. Mr. Nelson 
repeated his demands, and they were again refused. Four days slipped away, 
and the stars and stripes again appeared off the harbor. King Bomba, looking 
out from his palace windows, saw the fifty-gun frigate "Concord" sail into the 
harbor and drop her anchor. Then unmistakable signs of uneasiness began to 
show themselves. Forts were repaired, troops drilled, and more cannon mounted 
on the coast. The demands were reiterated, but the Neapolitan Government 
still refused. Two days later another war-ship made her way into the harbor. 
It was the "John Adams." When the fifth ship sailed gallantly in, the Bourbon 
Government seemed almost on the point of yielding ; but three days later Mr. 
Nelson sent word home that he was still unable to collect the bill. But the end 
was not yet. Three days later, and the sixth sail showed itself on the blue 
waters of the peerless bay. It was the handwriting on the wall for King Bomba, 
and his Government announced that they would accede to the American 
demands. The negotiations were promptly resumed and speedily closed, the 
payment of the principal in installments with interest being guaranteed. 
Pending negotiations, from August 28 to September 15 the entire squadron 
remained in the Bay of Naples, and then the ships sailed away and separated. 
So, happily and bloodlessly, ended a difficulty which at one time threatened most 
serious results. 

AUSTRIA AND THE KOSZTA CASE. 

Another demonstration, less imposing in numbers but quite as spirited, and, 
indeed, more intensely dramatic, occurred at Smyrna in 1853, when Captain Dun- 
can N. Ingraham, with a single sloop-of-war, trained his broadsides on a fleet of 
Austrian war-ships in the harbor. The episode was a most thrilling one, and 
"The Story of America " would indeed be incomplete were so dramatic an affair 
left unrecorded on its pages. And this is the record : — 

When the revolution of Hungary against Austria was put down, Kossuth, 
Koszta, and other leading revolutionists fled to Smyrna, and the Turkish Gov- 
ernment, after long negotiations, refused to give them up. Koszta soon after 
came to the United States, and in July, 1852, declared under oath his intention 
of becoming an American citizen. He resided in New York city a year 
and eleven months. 

The next year Koszta went to Smyrna on business, where he remained for 
a time undisturbed. He had so inflamed the Austrian Government against him, 
however, that a plot was formed to capture him. On June 21, 1853, while he 
was seated on the Marina, a public resort in Smyrna, a band of Greek mercen- 
aries, hired by the Austrian Consul, seized him and carried him off to an 
Austrian ship-of-war, the Huzzar, then lying in the harbor. On board the vessel 



CAPTAIN INGRAHAM. 



191 



Archduke John, brother of the 
Emperor, was said to be in 
command. Koszta was put 
in irons and treated as a 
criminal. The next day an 
American sloop-of-war, the 
"St. Louis," commanded by 
Capt. Duncan N. Ingraham, * 
sailed into the harbor. Learn- 
ing what had happened, Capt. 
Ingraham immediately sent 
on board the " Huzzar " and 
courteously asked permission 
to see Koszta. His request 
was granted, and Captain 
Ingraham assured himself 
that Koszta was entitled to 
the protection of the Ameri- 
can flag. He demanded 
Koszta's release of the Aus- 
trian commander. When it 
was refused he communi- 
cated with the nearest United 
States official. Consul Brown, 
at Constantinople. While he 
was waiting for an answer 
six Austrian war-ships sailed 



* Duncan Nathaniel Ingraham 
was born December 6, 1802, at 
Charleston, South Carolina. He 
entered the United States Navy in 
1812 as midshipman, and became a 
captain September 14, 1855. In 
March, 1856, he was appointed Chief 
of the Bureau of Ordnance and Hy- 
drography of the Navy Department, 
a position which he held until South 
Carolina passed her ordinance of 
secession in i860. He then resigned 
his commission in the navy and took 
service under the Confederate States, 
in which he rose to the rank of 
Commodore. He died in 1891. 




192 THE STORY OF AMERICA 

into the harbor and came to anchor in positions near the " Huzzar." On June 
29th, before Captain Ingraham had received any answer from the American 
Consul, he noticed unusual signs of activity on board the "Huzzar," and before 
long she began to get under way. The American Captain made up his mind 
immediately. He put the "St. Louis" straight in the " Huzzar's " course and 
cleared his guns for action. The "Huzzar" hove to, and Captain Ingraham 
went on board and demanded the meaning of the " Huzzar's " action. 

"We propose to sail for home," repHed the Austrian. "The Consul has 
ordered us to take our prisoner to Austria." 

" You will pardon me." said Captain Ingraham, " but if you attempt to leave 
this port with that American on board I shall be compelled to resort to extreme 
measures." 

The Au'itrian glanced around at the fleet of Austrian war-ships and the 
single American sloop-of-war. Then he smiled pleasantly, and intimated that 
the " Huzzar " would do as she pleased. 

Captain Ingraham bowed and returned to the "St. Louis." He had no 
sooner reached her deck than he called out : " Clear the guns for action ! " 

The Archduke of Austi-ia saw the batteries of the "St. Louis" turned on 
him, and he realized that he was in the wrong. The " Huzzar" was put about 
and sailed back to her old anchorage. Word was sent to Captain Ingraham 
that the Austrian would await the arrival of the note from Mr. Brown. 

The Consul's note, which came on July ist, commended Captain Ingraham's 
course and advised him to take whatever action he thought the situation 
demanded. 

At eight o'clock on the morning of July 2d, Captain Ingraham sent a note 
to the commander of the " Huzzar," formally demanding the release of Mr. 
Koszta. Unless the prisoner was delivered on board the "St. Louis" before 
four o'clock the next afternoon. Captain Ingraham would take him from the 
Austrians by force. The Archduke sent back a formal refusal. At eight o'clock 
the next morning Captain Ingraham once more ordered the decks cleared for 
action and trained his batteries on the "Huzzar." The seven Austrian war 
vessels cleared their decks and put their men at the guns. 

At ten o'clock an Austrian officer came to Captain Ingraham and began to 
temporize. Captain Ingraham refused to listen to him. 

"To avoid the worst," he said, "I will agree to let the man be delivered to 
the French Consul at Smyrna until you have opportunit}'' to communicate with 
your Government. But he must be delivered there, or I will take him. I have 
■stated the time." 

At twelve o'clock a boat left the " Huzzar " with Koszta in it, and an houi 
later the French Consul sent word that Koszta was in his keeping. Theft 
several of the Austrian war-vessels sailed out of the harbor. Long negotiations 



AUSTRIA YIELDS. 



'93 



between the two Governments followed, and in the end Austria admitted that 
the United States was in the right, and apologized. 

Scarcely had the plaudits which greeted Captain Ingraham's intrepid course 
died away, when, the next year, another occasion arose where our Government 
was obliged to resort to the force of arms. This time Nicaragua was the country 
involved. Early in June, 1854, after repeated but unsuccessful attempts at a 
settlement had been made by the United States, our Government — Franklin 
Pierce was then President — determined to secure a settlement by appeal to 
arms. \^arious outrages, it was the contention of our Government, had been 
committed on the persons and property of American citizens dwelling in 
Nicaragua. The repeated demands for redress were not complied with. 



Commander Ho 11 ins, 
proceed to the town of 
coast of Nicaragua, and 



Peaceful negotiations having failed, in June, 1854. 
with the sloop-of-war ' Cyane," was ordered to 
San Juan, or Greytown, which lies on the .Mosquito 
to insist on favorable 
action from the Nica- 
raguan Government. 
Captain Hollins came 
to anchor off the coast 
and placed his de- 
mands before the 
authorities. He 
waited patiently for a 
response, but no satis- 
factory one was 
offered him. After 
waiting in vain for a 
number of days he 
made a final appeal 
and then proceeded 

to carry^ out instructions. On the morning of July 13th he directed his batteries 
on the town of San Juan and opened fire. Until four o'clock in the afternoon 
the cannon poured out broadsides as fast as they could be loaded. By that time 
the greater part of the town had been destroyed. Then a party of marines 
was put on shore, and they completed the destruction of the place by burning 
the houses. 

A lieutenant of the British na\y commanding a small vessel of war was in the 
harbor at the time. England claimed a species of protectorate over the settle- 
ment, and the British ofiiicer raised violent protest against the action taken by 
America's representative. Captain Hollins, however, paid no attention to the 
interference and carried out his instructions. The United States Government 
13 




LATEST MODEL OF CATLING FIZIX) GUN. 



194 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

later sustained Captain Hollins in everything that he did, and England thereupon 
thought best to let the matter drop. In this they were unquestionably wise. 

At this time the United States seems to have entered upon a period of 
international conflict. For no sooner had the difficulties with Austria and 
Nicaragua been adjusted, than another war-cloud appeared on the horizon. 
Here again but a year from the last conflict had elapsed, for in 1855 an offense 
was committed against the United States by Paraguay. We now have to go 
back three years. In 1852 Captain Thomas J. Page,* commanding a small 
light-draught steamer, the "Water Witch," by direction of his Government 
started for South America to explore the river La Plata and its large tributaries, 
with a view to opening up commercial intercourse between the United States 
and the interior States of South America. We have said the expedition was 
ordered by our Government ; it also remains to be noted that the expedition 
was undertaken with the full consent and approbation of the countries having 
jurisdiction over those waters. Slowly, but surely, the little steamer pushed her 
way up the river, making soundings and charting the river as she proceeded. 
All went well until February i, 1855, when the first sign of trouble appeared, 

It was a lovely day in early summer — the summer begins in February in 
that latitude — and nothing appeared to indicate the slightest disturbance. The 
little "Water Witch" was quietly steaming up the River Parana, which forms 
the northern boundary of the State of Corrientes, separating it from Paraguay, 
when suddenly, without a moment's warning, a battery from Fort Itaparu, on 
the Paraguayan shore, opened fire upon the little steamer, immediately killing 
one of her crew who at that time was at the wheel. The "Water Witch " was 
not fitted for hostilities ; least of all could it assume the risk of attempting to 
run the batteries of the fort. Accordingly, Captain Page put the steamer 
about, and was soon out of range. It should here be explained that at that 
time President Carlos A. Lopez was the autocratic ruler of Paraguay, and that 
he had previously received Captain Page with every assurance of friendship. 
A few months previous, however, Lopez had been antagonized by the United 
States Consul at Ascencion, who, in addition to his official position, acted as 
ao-ent for an American mercantile company, of which Lopez disapproved and 
went so far as to break up the business of the company. He also issued a 
decree forbidding foreign vessels of war from navigating the Parana or any of 
the waters bounding Paraguay, which he clearly had no right to do, as half the 
stream belonged to the State bordering on the other side. 



* Thomas Jefferson Page was born in Virginia in 1815. He entered the navy as midshipman 
in October, 1827, and was promoted to a lieutenancy in June, 1833. In September, 1855, he 
became a commander. In 1861, his State having passed the ordinance of secession, he resigned 
from the United States Navy, joining that of the Confederate States, where he attained the rank oi 
Commodore. 



THE PARAGUAYAN TROUBLE. 195 

Captain Page, finding it impracticable to prosecute his exploration any 
further, at once returned to the United States, giving the Washington authori- 
ties a detailed account of the occurrence. It was claimed by our Government that 
the "Water Witch" was not subject to the jurisdiction of Paraguay, as the 
channel was the equal property of the Argentine Republic. It was further 
claimed that even if she were within the jurisdiction of Paraguay she was not 
properly a vessel of war, but a Government boat employed for scientific pur- 
poses. And even were the vessel supposed to be a war vessel, it was contended 
that it was a gross violation of international right and courtesy to fire shot at 
the vessel of a friendly power without first resorting to more peaceful means. 
At that time William L. Marcy, one of the foremost statesmen of his day, was 
Secretary of State. Mr. Marcy at once wrote a strong letter to the Paraguayan 
Government, stating the facts of the case, declaring that the action of Paraguay in 




EIGHT-INCH GUN AND CARRIAGE OF THE "BALTIMORE." 
{Built at the IVaskington Navy-Vard, of American Steei.) 



firing upon the " Water Witch " would not be submitted to, and demanding ample 
apology and compensation. All efforts in this direction, however, proved fruit- 
less. Lopez refused to give any reparation ; and not only so, but declared no 
American vessel would be allowed to ascend the Parana for the purpose 
indicated. 

The event, as it became known, aroused not a little excitement ; and while 
there were some who "deprecated a resort to extreme measures" — a euphemistic 
phrase frequently resorted to by those who would neither resent an insult nor 
take umbrage at an intended offense — the general sentiment of the country was 
decidedly manifested in favor of an assertion of our rights in the premises. 
Accordingly, President Pierce sent a message to Congress stating that a peace- 
ful adjustment of the difficulty was impossible, and asking that he be authorized 
to send such a naval force to Paraguay as would compel her arbitrary ruler to 
give the full satisfaction demanded. 

To this request Congress promptly and almost unanimously gave assent, 
and one of the strongest naval expeditions ever fitted out by the United States up 



195 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

to that time was ordered to assemble at the mouth of La Plata River. The 
fleet was a most imposing one and comprised nineteen vessels, seven of which 
were steamers specially chartered for the purpose, as our largest war vessels 
were of too deep draught to ascend La Plata and Parana. The entire squad- 
ron carried 200 guns and 2500 men, and was commanded by Flag Officer, 
afterward Rear Admiral, Shubrick,* one of the oldest officers of our navy, and 
one of the most gallant men that ever trod a quarter deck. Flag Officer Shu- 
brick was accompanied by United States Commissioner Bowlin, to whom was 
intrusted negotiations for the settlement of the difficulty. Three years and 
eleven months had now passed since the "Water Witch " was fired upon, and 
President Buchanan had succeeded Franklin Pierce. The winter of 1 859 was 
just closing in at the North ; the streams were closed by ice, and the lakes were 
ice-bound, but the palm trees at the South were displaying their fresh green 
leaves, like so many fringed banners, in the warm tropical air when the United 
States squadron assembled at Montevideo [Montevideo]. As has been said, 
the force was an imposing one. There were two United States frigates, the 
"Sabine" and the "St. Lawrence;" two sloops-of-war, the "Falmouth" and 
the " Preble ; " three brigs, the " Bainbridge," the " Dolphin," and the " Perry ;" 
six steamers especially armed for the occasion, the " Memphis," the " Cale- 
donia," the "Atlanta," the "Southern Star," the " Westernport," the " M. W. 
Chapin," and the " Metacomet ; " two armed storeships, the " Supply" and the 
"Release;" the revenue steamer, "Harriet Lane;" and, lastly, the little 
"Water Witch" herself no longer defenseless, but all in fighting trim for hos- 
tilities. 

On the 25th of January, 1859, within just one week of four years from the 
firing upon the "Water Witch," the squadron got under way and came to 
anchor off Ascencion, the capital of Paraguay. Meanwhile President Urquiza, 
of the Argentine Republic, who had offered his services to mediate the diffi- 
culty, had arrived at Ascencion in advance of the squadron. The negotiations 
were reopened, and Commissioner Bowlin made his demand for instant repara- 
tion. All this time Flag Officer Shubrick was not idle. With such of our 
vessels as were capable of ascending the river, taking them through the diffi- 
culties created by the currents, shoals, and sand bars of the river, he brought 

* William Branford Shubrick was one of the most illustrious mart whose name has appeared on 
the roll of United States naval officers. He was born in 1790; appointed midshipman United 
States Navy June 20, 1806; joined the sloop-of-war "Wasp" 181 2; a year later was transferred 
to the frigate "Constellation;" aided in the capture of the British vessels " Cyane " and 
" Levant ; " and in 1815 was awarded a sword by his native State. In 1820 was made commander ; 
in 1829 commanded the "Lexington; " in 1846 commanded the Pacific squadron, and filled 
various prominent positions extending over a period of sixty-one years, till May 12, 1876, when 
he died. 



LOPEZ COMES TO TERMS. 



197 



them to a chosen position, where they made ready in case of necessity to open 
fire. The force within striking distance of Paraguay consisted of 1 740 men, 
besides the officers, and 78 guns, including 23 nine-inch shell guns and one 
shell gun of eleven inches. 

Ships and guns proved to be very strong arguments with Lopez. It did 
not take the Dictator-President long to see that the United States meant business, 
and that the time for trifling had passed and the time for serious work had 
indeed begun. President Lopez's cerebral processes worked with remarkable and 
encouraging celerity. By February 5th, within less than two weeks of the 
starting of the squadron from Montevideo, Commissioner Bowlin's demands 
were all acceded to. Ample apologies were made for firing on the " Water 




ONE OF THE " MIANTONOMAH'S " FOUR TEN-INCH BREECH-LOADING RIFLES. 



Witch" and pecuniary compensation was given to the family of the sailor who 
had been killed. In addition to this, a new commercial treaty was made between 
the two countries, and cordial relations were fully restored between the two 
governments. When the squadron returned the Secretary of the Navy 
expressed the satisfaction of the government and the country in the follow- 
ing terms : — 

"To the zeal, energy, discretion, and courteous and gallant bearing of Flag-officer Shubrick 
and the officers under his command, in conducting an expedition far into the interior of a remote 
country, encountering not only great physical difficulties, but the fears, apprehensions and prejudices 
of numerous States; and to the good conduct of the brave men under his command, is the country 
largely indebted, not only for the success of the enterprise, but for the friendly feeling towards the 
United States which now prevails in all that part of South America." 



igS 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



To such a happy and peaceful conclusion were our difficulties with Paraguay 
finally brought. 

A period of thirty years elapsed before any serious difficulty occurred with 
any foreign powers. It was in 1891 that a serious difficulty threatened to 
disrupt our relations with Chili and possibly involve the United States in war 
with that power. Happily the matter reached a peaceful settlement. In 
Januarj', 1891, civil war broke out in Chili, the cause of which was a contest 
between the legislative branch of the government and the executive, for the 
control of affairs. The President of Chili, General Balmaceda, began to assert 
authority which the legislature, or "the Congressionalists," as the opposing 
party was called, resisted as unconstitutional and oppressive, and they accord- 
ingly proceeded to interfere with Balmaceda's Cabinet in its efforts to carry out 
the despotic will of the executive. 

Finally matters came to a point where appeal to arms was necessary. On 
the 9th of January the Congressional party took possession of the greater part 
of the Chilian fleet, the navy being in heart)^ sympathy with the Congression- 
alists, and the guns of the war-ships were turned against Balmaceda, Valparaiso, 
the capital, and other ports being blockaded by the ships. For a time Balma- 
ceda maintained control of the capital and the southern part of the countr)'. 
The key to the position was Valparaiso, which was strongly fortified, Balma- 
ceda's army being massed there and placed at available points. 

At last the Congressionalists determined to attack Balmaceda at his capital^ 
and on August 2 1 st landed every available fighting man at their disposal at 
Concon, about ten miles north of \^alparaiso. They were attacked by the Dic- 
tator on the 2 2d, there being twenty thousand men on each side. The Dictator 
had the worst of it. Then he rallied his shattered forces, and made his last 
stand at Placillo, close to Valparaiso, on the 28th. The battle was hot, the car- 
nage fearful ; neither side asked or received quarter. The magazine rifles, 
with which the revolutionists were armed, did wonders. The odds were against 
Balmaceda ; both his generals quarreled in face of the enemy ; the army marched 
against the foe divided and demoralized. In the last battle both Balmaceda's 
generals were killed. The valor and the superior tactics of General Canto, leader 
of the Congressional army won the day. Balmaceda fled and eventually com- 
mitted suicide, and the Congressionalists entered the capital in triumph. 

Several incidents meantime had conspired, during the progress of this war, 
to rouse the animosity' of the stronger party in Chili against the United States. 
Before the Congressionalists" triumph the steamship Itata, loaded with American 
arms and ammunition for Chili, sailed from San Francisco, and as this was a 
violation of the neutrality laws, a United States war vessel pursued her to the 
harbor of Iquique, where she surrendered. Then other troubles arose. Our 
minister at Valparaiso, Mr. Egan, was charged by the Congressionalists, now 



AMERICAN SEAMEN ATTACKED. 



199 



In power, with disregarding international law in allowing the American 
Legation to become an asylum for the adherents of Balmaceda. Subsequently 
these refugees were permitted to go aboard American vessels and sail away. 
Then Admiral Brown, of the United States squadron, was, in Chili's opinion, 
guilty of having acted as a spy upon the movements of the CongressionaHsts' 
fleet at Ouinteros, and of bringing intelligence of its movements to Bal- 
maceda at Valparaiso. This, however, the Admiral stoutly denied. 

AN ATTACK UPON AMERICAN SEAMEN. 

The strong popular feeling of dislike which was engendered by this news 
culminated on the i6th of October, in an attack upon American seamen by a 
mob in the streets of 
the Chilian capital. 
Captain Schley, com- 
mander of the United 
States cruiser, B a 1 1 i- 
more, had given shore- 
leave to a hundred and 




UNITED STATES 12-INCH BREECH-LOADING MORTAR, OR HOWITZER. 



seventeen petty officers and seamen, some of whom, when they had been 
on shore for several hours, were set upoii by Chilians. They took refuge in a 
street car, from which, however, they were soon driven and mercilessly beaten, 
and a subordinate officer named Riggen fell, apparently lifeless. The American 
sailors, according to Captain Schley's testimony, were sober and conducting 
themselves with propriety when the attack was made. They were not armed, 
even their knives having been taken from them before they left the vessel. 

The assault upon those in the street car seemed to be only a signal for a 
general uprising ; and a mob which is variously estimated at from one thousand 
to two thousand people attacked our sailors with such fury that in a little while 
these men, whom no investigation could find guilty of any breach of the peace, 
were fleeing for their lives before an overwhelming crowd, among which were a 



200 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

number of the police of Valparaiso. In this affray eighteen sailors were stabbed, 
several dying from their wounds. 

Of course, the United States Government at once communicated with the 
Chilian authorities on the subject, expressing an intention to investigate the 
occurrence fully. The first reply made to the American Government by Signor 
Matta, the Chilian Minister of Foreign Affairs, was to the effect that Chili would 
not allow anything to interfere with her own official investigation. 

An examination of all the facts was made on our part. It was careful and 
thorough, and showed that our flag had been insulted in the persons of American 
seamen. Yet, while the Chilian Court of Inquiry could present no extenuating 
facts, that country refused at first to offer apology or reparation for the affront. 

In the course of the correspondence Minister Matta sent a note of instruc- 
tion to Mr. Montt, Chilian representative at Washington, in which he used most 
offensive terms in relation to the United States, and directed that the letter be 
given to the press for publication. 

After waiting for a long time for the result of the investigation at Valpa- 
raiso, and finding that, although no excuse or palliation had been found for the 
outrage, yet the Chilian authorities seemed reluctant to offer apology, the Presi- 
dent of the United States, in a message to Congress, made an extended state- 
ment of the various incidents of the case and its legal aspect, and stated that on 
the 2 1 St of January he had caused a peremptory communication to be presented 
to the Chilian Government, by the American Minister at Santiago, in which 
severance of diplomatic relations was threatened if our demands for satisfac- 
tion, which included the withdrawal of Mr. Malta's insulting note, were not 
complied with. At the time that this message was delivered no reply had been 
sent to this note. 

Mr. Harrison's statement of the legal aspect of the case, upon which the 
final settlement of the difficulty was based was, that the presence of a war-ship 
of any nation in a port belonging to a friendly power is by virtue of a general 
invitation which nations are held to extend to each other ; that Commander 
Schley was invited, with his officers and crew, to enjoy the hospitality of Valpa- 
raiso ; that while no claim that an attack which an individual sailor may be 
subjected to raises an international question, yet where the resident population 
assault sailors of another country's war vessels, as at Valparaiso, animated by 
an animosity against the government to which they belong, that government 
must show the same enquiry and jealousy as though the representatives or flag 
of the nation had been attacked ; because the sailors are there by the order of 
their government. 

Fmally an ultimatum was sent from the State Department at Washington, 
on the 25th, to Minister Egan, and was by him transmitted to the proper 
Chilian authorities, It demanded the retraction of Mr. Matta' s note and suit- 



MATTA'S IMPUDENT LETTER. 



20I 



able apology and reparation for the insult and injury sustained by the United 
States. On the 28th of January, 1892, a dispatch from Chili was received, in 
which the demands of our Government were fully acceded to, the offensive 
letter was withdrawn and regret was expressed for the trouble. In his relation 
to this particular case Minister Egan's conduct received the entire approval of 
his Government. 

While the United States looked for a peaceful solution of this annoying 
international episode, the proper preparations were made for a less desirable 




HARPER S FERRY. 



outcome. Our naval force was put in as efficient a condition as possible, and 
the vessels which were then in the navy yard were gotten ready for service with 
all expedition. If the Chilian war-scare did nothing else, it aroused a whole- 
some interest in naval matters throughout the whole of the United States, and 
by focusing attention upon the needs of this branch of the public service, showed 
at once how helpless we might become in the event of a war with any first-class 
power. We can thank Chili that to-day the United States Navy, while far from 
being what it should be, is in a better condition than at any time in our history. 



202 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 

On the 25th day of April, 1898, war was declared by the United States 
Government against the Kingdom of Spain. The causes which led to the dec- 
laration of hostilities were, first, the inhuman treatment of the Cubans by the 
Spanish Government ; and, second, the destruction of the United States Battle- 
ship " Maine " in the harbor of Havana. 

In 1895 a revolution began in Cuba, led by the brave Generals Maximo 
Gomez and Antonio Maceo. Within three years Spain had sent an army of 
nearly quarter of a million soldiers to the island but had failed to quell the re- 
bellion. The country was laid waste by fire and sword, and the Spanish, under 
the guise of protection, gathered the non-combatant Cubans into towns. The 
news soon flashed over the wires that these reconcentrados, as those in the 
garrisoned towns were called, were dying by thousands from starvation. 

United States Consul-General Fitz-Hugh Lee reported also that American 
citizens of the island had suffered greatly. Accordingly on January 25th the 
Battle-ship " Maine " was dispatched to Havana, with the consent of the Spanish 
Government, on a friendly visit, it being arranged that the Spanish Battle-ship 
" Vizcaya " should visit New York in return. 

On the evening of February 15th, 1898, between nine and ten o'clock, the 
"Maine," while lying at anchor in Havana harbor, was blown to pieces and 266 of 
her crew were killed. The belief prevailed throughout the country that Spanish 
officials knew of or participated in the plans for destroying our battle-ship, 
and the official inquiry seemed to justify this belief. 

In the meantime Senators Proctor, Thurston and others visited Cuba, and, 
returning, delivered speeches in the United States Senate which revealed a most 
shocking condition of affairs. They deemed it impossible for Spain to subdue the 
island except by practically exterminating its population, by starving the women 
and children which seemed to be their policy. These reports were confirmed by 
Consul-General Lee, and he also shared the belief that the "Maine" had been 
destroyed through Spanish treachery. The whole nation was intensely aroused. 

On March 8th, ^50,000,000 had been voted to strengthen our coast defenses. 
Heated debates in Congress followed. On April 19th a joint resolution was 
passed by both Houses and signed by the President, declaring " that the people 
of the island of Cuba are, and of a right ought to be, free and independent," 
The Government of Spain was ordered to release its authority and withdraw its 
land and naval forces from the island. The Spanish Minister, Polo, requested 
and was given his passport and departed for Canada, and United States Minister 
Woodford, at Madrid, was promptly dismissed by that Government before he 
could present the President's ultimatum to Spain. 

Friday night, April 2 2d, the United States fleet blockaded Havana and a call 
vas promptly made by the United States for 125,000 volunteers. 



CHAPTER XI. 



HOW WEi QOVERN OURSELVES*. 

BY MISS ANNA L. DAWES, 

Author of Life of Sumner, etc. 

The Government of the United 
States is unique in three respects : It 
is the larsfest and most successful de- 
mocracy that has ever existed, it is a 
federal system, and it has a written 
Constitution. Perhaps it may be called 
unique in its methods also, for no 
other government is made up of three 
separate and yet equal branches, each 
in some sense the Government, but all 
necessary to any complete action of 
the nation ; and still again those de- 
partments, the Legislative, the Execu- 
tive, and the Judiciary, have each their 
own peculiar and distinctive features. 
Legislation is representative and not 
democratic. The Executive has not 
only the duty of executing the laws, but a power of veto over them, and the 
Supreme Court stands alone in all the world in its place and importance. 

The Government of the United States, in the expressive phrase of Abraham 
Lincoln, is "A government by the people, of the people, and for the people." 
It is often claimed that England is more democratic in fact, Germany more at- 
tendve to the needs of the people ; but Briton and German alike hold that 
power comes from the throne and its reserved rights remain with the throne. 
But every American believes that power comes from the people, the Executive 
is in some sense an agent, and the reserved rights remain with the people. The 
difference is not only fundamental, but there result from it doctrines and relations 
which run through all our system and our methods as well. No amount of super- 
ficial flexibility, as in England, or of temporary advantage, as in Germany, can at 
all compensate for this great and far-reaching distincdon, this confidence in and 
dependence upon the people. Again, we have two kinds of law — that made by 
Congress as the needs of the time require, law which may be altered according to 

203 




THE CAPITOL AT WASHINGTON. 



2o^ THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

occasion, and the great permanent Constitution, which only the people and the 
States acting together can alter, and that after long and careful process, and to 
which all other law must conform. This Constitution is truly enough the 
bulw ark of our liberties ; no sudden whims or changing passions can deprive us 
of tl.e fundamental rights guaranteed by it ; the storm of battle has proved it 
strong enough to stand against all assaults, and the stress of unequaled growth 
has shown it broad enough for all demands. It seems, indeed, as if a superhuman 
wis Jom was given to the forefathers. Molded by Hamilton, and Franklin, and 
the Adamses, and Madison, and Ellsworth, and many another great man, it 
drew its inspiration from French philosophers and Dutch methods, and the 
mingled love and hate for English practice. The government of a little Baptist 
church in Pennsylvania, and the Connecticut town-meeting, and the conflicting 
interests of different sections, and many other elements entered in to make 
th's great instrument what it is. Under it we have lived for one hundred years, 
and have stretched our boundaries from one ocean to the other, from the 
f/ozen seas of the Arctic Circle to the tropical waters of the Gulf. We have 
endured three wars, and are grown so strong that the great governments of 
Europe hesitate to encounter us, and sit by our side in equal honor ; we have be- 
come sixty million people, and our riches are matched with imperial treasuries, but 
our doors are ever open to the laborer and we give him all opportunity, until 
he shall stand at the top if it pleases him. Side by side the rich and the poor, 
the learned and the unlearned, the chief among us and the least of all, hold the 
great gift of governing, and we count them each a man ; and the whole great 
and glorious structure rests on the firm and enduring rock of the Constitution. 

The Government is carried on, according to the terms of this Constitution 
and under its provisions, by three great branches : Congress, which makes the 
laws ; the Judiciary, which interprets these laws and decides whether they agree 
with the Constitution ; and the Executive, which carries them out. And since 
this is a government of the people. Congress, which represents the people and 
expresses their will, is the centre around which the whole government turns. 

Congress is composed of two houses, the House of Representatives and 
the Senate. The House of Representatives is elected every two years, and 
each member of it represents somewhat more than 150,000 people. Each 
State sends as many Congressmen as are necessary to represent its whole 
population, being divided into districts containing each a population of 150,000, 
from among which the members of Congress are chosen. The requirement 
that the representative shall live within the State is an important distinction 
between our system and that of England. An English district or borough may 
elect a member of Parliament from any part of the nation, and thus it is believed 
the House of Commons will be composed of the best men in the country ; but 
it is our purpose to have every part of the country represented, and, therefore, 



I/O IV CONGRESS IS COMPOSED. 



205 



by an unwritten law, never disregarded, we require that each Congressman shal'. 
reside in the district which chooses him. Thus, so far as possible, every man in 
the country is represented. It must always be remembered, however, that the 
government of the United States is not a pure democracy, but a republic. It 
is first and foremost a representative government. In every possible way 
endeavor is made that each man shall be represented, but he must act through 
a representative. The short term of service insures that these representatives 
shall reflect the changing will of the people, and furnishes a remedy for aU 
unjust or foolish action. He shows an entire ignorance of our system who 
complains of the tyranny of government in the United States. The House, 
of Representatives is its chief governing power, and, remade as it is by the 
people themselves once in two years, it is constantly controlled by the will of 
the people. 

This verv fact, the fact that the House of 
Representatives can be altered so readily, and 
always will reflect every passing change of 
public sentiment, made it necessary and highly 
desirable to add some more permanent element 
to Congress. For this, among other reasons, 
a Senate was created. Senators are elected 
once in six years, and represent the people of 
a whole State. Thus, because he is more 
permanent, and because he is chosen by a 
larger constituency, a senator represents the 
more stable elements of political thought, not 
so much the passing feeling of the moment, 
but the deep underlying opinions and wishes 

of a large number of people. Moreover, as the Senate is so arranged that 
only one senator from a State is elected at a time, and only one-third of 
the senators go out of office on any given year, it becomes in some sense a 
stable body, and acts as a check upon the excitements and lack of wisdom 
natural to such a body as the House. 

Still another reason, and that of great importance, marks the value of the 
Senate to the people. It is, in fact, more necessary to the preservation of our 
system than the House itself. The senators represent the States directly, 
and each State has two senators, no more and no less. This places each State 
on an equal footing with every other,, a result obviously an important element 
in our political system, and of the greatest practical importance to our liberties. 
By reason of this provision in our Constitution, Delaware or Rhode Island are 
of equal power in the Senate with Texas or New York, furnishing a check 
upon the unregulated control of any one section. If the Senate, like the House, 




JAMES G. BLAINE, EX-SECRETARY OF STATt 



206 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



represented the population and not the States, shortly enough Congress would 
be controlled by the great cities, or, perhaps, by the great States. The tyranny 
of New York or Chicago would be replaced by the tyranny of California or 
Texas. The immense mass of their people would always control the country, 
and we should be at the mercy of a practical monarchy. The equal power of 
the small States in the Senate goes far to prevent this result and to preserve 
the rule of the whole people, an actual as well as a nominal democracy. The 
Senate is altogether necessary to the country, and he is a false friend who 
would persuade the country to undermine it or destroy its relations to the 
States by making it a popular body. So thoroughly was this understood by 
the men who made the Constitution that a unique provision was inserted forbid- 
ding any amendment which should deprive the States of their equal representa- 
tion in the Senate without their own consent, practically a- prohibition of such 
an amendment. 

Congress has power to raise funds for our necessities by taxes, to borrow 
money, if necessary, to establish postal facilities, to coin or print our money, 
to regulate our foreign affairs, to make war, to control many other matters, and 
to make all the laws relative to these concerns. 

It requires both houses of Congress to pass the laws that govern us. A 
bill originates in the House or the Senate, according to its nature, is debated 
and passed by that body, sent to the other, debated and passed by that, and 
then sent to the President, who signs it, and thereby it becomes a law. If any 
of these conditions fail it falls to the ground. Either branch can refuse to pass 
a measure, and the President may refuse to sign, or veto it. But in this latter 
case, since the will of the people is the supreme power, the vetoed bill may be 
passed again, over the head of the President, as the phrase goes, if two-thirds of 
each house of Congress can be thereafter induced to vote for it. All bills for fur- 
nishing money must originate in the House of Representatives, that the people, by 
controlling the purse strings, may still more thoroughly control the Government. 
The Senate, on the other hand, has the power to consider and pass upon our 
treaties, and has also the duty of confirming or refusing all appointments of any 
importance. 

The officers of the House of Representatives are a Speaker, elected from 
among its members, who presides over its deliberations, a Clerk, a Sergeant-at- 
Arms, a Doorkeeper, and several smaller officers necessary to carry on it& 
business. The Senate is presided over by the Vice-President of the United 
States, and in his absence by one of the senators, chosen by themselves for 
that duty, and known as the President pro tempore. This body has also a Clerk 
and Sergeant at-Arms and minor officials. The business of Congress is largely 
done by its committees, which consider all important subjects before they are 
brought to the attention of either house. These committees are appointed by 



DUTIES OF THE CONGRESS. 



207 



the Speaker in the House of Representatives, and in the Senate are selected by 
a committee of the senators. Each Congress la;ts for two years, although not 
in session all of the time. Congress meets in the '^apitol at Washington on the 
first Monday in December of every year. The first year the session lasts until 
both houses can agree to adjourn, thus giving time for free and ample discus- 
sion of every subject. These "long sessions" usually continue until July or 
August, and sometimes until October. On the alternate years Congress is 
directed by the Constitution to adjourn on the fourth day of March, thus pre- 




SENATE CHAMBER. 



venting the attempt to make any one Congress permanent. All Congressmen 
are paid a salary, in order that poor men may have an equal chance with the 
rich. This salary is $5000 for both senators and representatives, except in the 
case of the Speaker and President of the Senate, who each of them receive 
$8000. No religious tests are allowed, and any man may belong to either house 
who is a citizen of the United States, who resides in the State which elects him, 
and who is of suitable age, twenty-five years in the House and thirty years 
in the Senate. 

When the laws are made they must be carried out ; and this is the busi* 



2o8 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



ness of the Executive department of the Government, a co-equal branch with 
the Legislative department. The President is the chief executive officer of the 
nation, and as such is prope ly the chief personage and principal officer in the 
land. It is no x-;istake to Fcvle him the " chief ruler" of the United States, for, 
although the people are our only rulers, they do this ruling through and by 
means of the President aid Congress, and thus depute him to rule over them 
for the time being. The President is only in a limited sense the agent of the 
people, but he is their chosen, although temporary, ruler, who is to carry out 
their laws. 

The President and Vice-President are chosen once in four years and elected 




HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES. 



by the people, who vote by States and not directly as a nation. The citizens of 
each State vote for a body of men called electors, equal in number to their 
Congressmen, who in turn choose the President a few weeks later. As a matter 
of fact, their choice is always known beforehand, as they are elected on the dis- 
tinct understanding of their preference. Although the method is somewhat 
clumsy, the principle is most necessary. In all our affairs, so far as possible, we 
must continue to act by States. It is only thus that our federal system can be 
preserved, and in that lies our safety and success. 

The qualifications for President are that he shall be a native-born Ameri- 
can, who has resided in the country for fourteen years, and who is thirty-five 



DUTIES OF THE EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT. 



209 



years old. He is inaugurated with much pomp and ceremony on the fourth of 
March, every four years, and resides at the Executive Mansion, or White 
House, in Washington, during his term of office. He is paid a salary of 
|j^50,ooo, that he may keep up a suitable state and dignity as our chief ruler. 
If he is guilty of treason, or other "high crimes and misdemeanors," of such 
importance that his continuance in office is dangerous to our liberties, he may 
be impeached by the House of Representatives, tried by the Senate, and, if 
found guilty, deposed, in which case his office would fall to the Vice-President. 
An effort was made to impeach President Johnson in 1866, but there being no 
adequate ground for such action, he was acquitted. 




THE WHITE HOUSE — MAIN ENTRANCE. 



The duties of the Executive department are mostly connected with the 
administration of the laws. The President is Commander-in-Chief of the Army 
and Navy, and he also represents the nation in matters connected with foreign 
governments. To that end he sends out foreign ministers to other govern- 
ments, and consuls, to conduct our business affairs in foreign ports. A large 
body of foreign ministers sent from other countries for a similar purpose reside 
at Washington, and throughout our cities are scattered foreign consuls for the 
transaction of commercial business. 

The President is assisted in his duties by a body of advisers, known as the 



2IO THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

Cabinet. This consists ^of eight officers of great importance, of his own selec- 
tion and appointment, each of whom has control of affairs of the Government 
in his particular department. The Secretary of State conducts oui foreign rela- 
tions ; the Secretary of the Treasury our financial affairs ; the Secretary of War 
is over our armies ; the Attorney General is the law officer of the Government ; 
the Postmaster General superintends the postal service ; the Secretary of thQ 
Navy commands our navy ; the Secretary of the Interior is concerned with 
patents, the Indians, the public lands, and many other important matters ; and 
the Secretary of Agriculture promotes the farming interests of the country. 
Each of these Secretaries has his office in Washington, where he attends to the 
enormous business of his department. Under him are an immense number of 
officers and clerks, all appointed either by the President or the head of the 
department, to carry on the business of Government. Each department is 
divided into bureaus, and much of the work is of the highest value and 
importance. 

In case of the death or inability of the President, the duties of his office 
devolve upon the Vice-President, and after him would fall to the Cabinet succes« 
sively, in the order already named. But should any member of the Cabinet be 
obliged to take this office, he would fill it only until a new election could be held. 

We have had a long and remarkable list of Presidents, beginning with 
George Washington himself There have been in all twenty-three different Presi- 
dents, by a curious coincidence covering twenty-four terms, and distributed 
among various political parties. Many of them were men of extraordinary 
ability. They have been strangely representative, some, like Washington and the 
Adamses being men of the aristocratic class, while others, like Jackson, and Lin- 
coln, and Garfield, were proud of their origin from among the poorest of the 
people. Twice the descendant of a President has filled that high place — John 
Quincy Adams being the son of John Adams, and Benjamin Harrison the grand- 
son of Wm. Henry Harrison. Two Presidents have brought beautiful and charm- 
ing brides to the White House during their term of office — President Tyler, who 
married Miss Julia Gardner, and President Cleveland, who married Miss Frances 
Folsom. Many times the people have delighted to honor the heroes of our 
wars. As one epoch after another passed in our history the laurels of war were 
placed upon the heads of Washington, of Andrew Jackson, of Wm. Henry 
Harrison, of Taylor, of Grant, and Hayes, and Garfield, and the second Harrison. 
Many different States have claimed the honor of the Presidency, but we have 
never yet had an Executive from the great Western States. Several Presidents 
have been re-elected, but by an unwritten law no man ever serves but two 
terms. Four have died in office, two of them, Lincoln and Garfield, having been 
assassinated. There have been many great men and many wise men in this 
office, but among them all there are three who stand out beyond their fellowSi 



POWERS OF THE SUPREME COURT. 



211 



creators of history — George Washington, who founded the Republic ; Abraham 
Lincoln, the greatest of all our great men in any time, and Ulysses S. Grant, 
the chief among our generals. 

An elaborate system of courts make up our national judiciary, and secure 
to the citizens protection and justice. In some respects the most extraordinary 
feature of our Government is the Supreme Court, which is unique in its power 
and importance. It is the business of this tribunal to construe the laws, to 
decide whether they agree with the Constitution, to settle any question as to 




SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE. 



whether the Constitution has been violated in deed, to decide upon suits 
between the States and the nation, and to determine legal questions between 
this and other countries. It is co-ordinate with Congress and the Executive, 
and yet the highest power in the land, for both bow to its decisions. Law and 
justice are preserved in its keeping, lest either of the other two great branches 
of the Government usurp the power, or transcend the Constitution. Any law 
the constitutionality of which is questioned, may be brought before this court, 
and its decision is final, confirming it against all opposition, or making it null 



212 THE STORY OF AMERICA. 

and void, and thus of no effect whatever. This court consists of nine judges, or 
justices as they are called, appointed for life or good behavior, by the President, 
and confirmed by the Senate. They are paid $10,000 a year, with a pension 
after they become too old for longer service. The head of the court, or the 
Chief justice, administers the oath to the President on his inauguration, and 
many times stands next him in rank and position. Certainly no nobler illus- 
tration of the might and majesty of law can be given than this court, adjusting 
the affairs of the nation itself to which President and people alike bow, in 
token that righteousness and justice are greater than power. 

No account of our Government would be in any sense complete, nor 
indeed would it be intelligible, that did not take into account our Federal system, 
The whole country is divided into States, and each State is a separate and dis- 
tinct government, having control of its local alTairs, and responsible to its own 
people. In all those larger affairs which concern the whole country, it joins 
with its fellows in the general Government, but the power of this general 
Government comes from the States. The States are not given more or less 
power by the United States, but the States give more or less power to the 
United States and reserve the other rights to themselves. The United States, 
however, has supreme control over all matters relating to the nation, and will 
not allow any State to infringe upon the rights or jeopardize the safety of any 
other. For that reason it will not permit any State or States to secede, because 
the cooperation of them all is necessary to the safety of the Union. We are 
States united into a nation, but we are a nation, one and indissoluble. 

The history of the country makes plain these relations. Thirteen colonies, 
settled by different peoples of different origins and for widely different reasons, 
joined each other for the sake of common safety and national prosperity. 
Practical necessity and political wisdom alike dictated that local affairs should 
continue under the control of each colony or State, while matters of general 
interest were decided by the whole acting together. To this end each colony 
gave up to the nation its general rights but reserved the power over its internal 
affairs. It is this federal system which makes it possible for a democratic 
government to rule such an immense country, and it is only this. Therefore, 
while we are careful to retain the supreme control to the general Government; 
we must more and more relegate sectional concerns, however large and import- 
ant, to the States ; and we mast guard against the centralizing of our affairs in 
the hands of the national Government, however much to our temporary advan- 
tage it may be. In the nature of the case we cannot govern territory of such 
enormous extent, with so various a population and such varying interest, by 
democratic methods unless we keep strictly to the federal idea. It is our only 
safety. 

Each State has a Governor, Legislature, and Supreme Court of its own ; 



RELATION OF STATES TO THE NATION. 2 

the Governor, Legislature, and, in some States, the Supreme Court, being 
elected by its own people. Different States require different qualifications in 
their voters ; in some a man must be able to read and write ; in some be pos- 
sessed of certain property ; in one there is no distinction between men and 
women ; and various other requirements are found in the different States. 
Whatever makes a man a voter in his own State allows him to vote in that State 
in national elections also. 

The term of office of State officers varies greatly, some States holding their 
Legislatures annually, and some biennially ; some Governors being elected for 
one year and some for longer terms. In all these, its own affairs, the State is 
supreme. Each has its own courts, under its Supreme Court, for the further- 
ance of justice. Local affairs also are very variously administered, by townships, 
counties, parishes, and other subdivisions, many of them very ancient, and in 
like manner cities are governed in different ways. All this diversity in unity 
serves to make one homogeneous nation of this heterogeneous multitude of sixty 
million people. 

The original thirteen States, little as they dreamed of the great territory over 
which the flag of the United States floats so proudly to-day, had no narrow idea 
of a nation, and provided for its expansion even better than they knew. The 
common land belonging to the nation, and as yet largely unsettled, is held by 
the 'common Government, in Territories. These are governed by officers 
appointed by the President, and are subject to United States laws only. Their 
own Legislatures arrange their local affairs, and each sends a delegate to Con- 
gress to look after its interests, but the law does not allow him to vote. As 
soon as any Territory contains a population large enough, Congress admits it 
to the Union as a State, with all the rights and privileges of its older sisters, 
the President proclaims that fact to the world, and a new commonwealth is 
added to the sisterhood, marked by the new star in the flag we honor. Thus 
one after another we have already seen thirty-two new States added to that 
little band of thirteen, some of them great and rich realms many times as large 
as the whole nation at its beginning. 



'/. 




CHAPTER XII. 

OUR PRESIDENTS. 

HEN the office of President was to be filled for the first time, 
grave problems were to be solved. The hardship and 
suffering of the struggle for independence were yet present 
in the minds of all men ; the weakness and failure of the 
Government instituted by the Articles of Confederation had 
compelled an attempt "to form a more perfect Union;" 
the eyes of the civilized world were upon the struggling 
people, and to men who had not an abiding faith in the prin- 
ciples for which the battles of the Revolution had been 
fought, it seemed that the experiment of popular Government was to end in 
early, complete, and appropriate catastrophe. • 

In such circumstances it was well that the public needs were so great and 
so immediate as to make men willing to forget their differences and consider 
measures for the common good ; and particularly was it well for the future of 
our country, that there was one man upon whom all could agree as uniting the 
wisdom, the moderation, the experience, the dignity necessary to the first 
President of the United States. 

George Washington was the only man ever unanimously elected President. 
Of his personal history and of his character, enough has been said in another 
place. He undertook the duties of the Chief Magistracy with a deep sense of 
their importance, and their difficulty, but with the courage and devotion which 
characterized all his conduct. He selected for his Cabinet men of widely 
different political views, but men whose names were not new to Americans, men 
whose past services justified the belief that they would find means of leading 
the country out of its present difficulties, and of setting the affairs of the 
Government on a sure foundation. Jefferson, Hamilton, Knox and Randolph, 
might well be trusted to concert wise measures. 

Washington's second election was, like the first, without opposition, and for 
four years more he continued to guide the affairs of State. A national bank had 
been established early in his first term, and also the Philadelphia Mint, and the 
currency of the country was now oa a fairly satisfactory basis ; a census had 

214 



JOHN ADAMS. 215 

been taken in 1790 and showed that the country had already begun to grow in 
population, and the outlook was much more favorable than four years earlier. 

Upon the announcement of Washington's retirement, the two parties, 
which had been gradually developing an organization, prepared to contest the 
election of the second President. The Federalists, who advocated ^ strong 
central Government, favored John Adams, and the Republicans, who " claimed 
to be the friends of liberty and the rights of man, the advocates of economy, and 
of the rights of the States," desired the election of Thomas Jefferson. The 
Federalists were in a sHght majority, and Mr. Adams was elected. He was a 
native of Massachusetts, and had borne a leading part in the struggle for 
independence and the development of the Government. He was one of the 
leaders in Massachusetts in resisting the oppressive measures which brought 
on the Revolution ; he seconded the resolution for the Declaration of Indepen 
dence, and assisted in framing that remarkable document ; with Franklin and 
Jay, he negotiated the treaty which established our independence ; he had 
represented his country as Minister to France, and to Holland, and was the 
first United States Minister to England ; he had been Vice President durine 
Washington's two administrations, and was now to assume ofifice as the second 
President. 

His Presidency opened with every prospect of war with the French. That 
nation had taken offense because we preserved an attitude of neutrality in their 
contest with Great Britian. They actually began war by capturing our merchant 
ships, and the French Directory refused to receive the new United States 
Minister, while three commissioners, who were sent to make one more effort for 
peace, were insulted. Under the influence of the war spirit thus excited, the 
Federalists in Congress passed two acts, known as the Alien and Sedition Laws, 
which resulted in the downfall of their party. The former gave the President 
authority to order out of the country any alien whom he considered dangerous 
to its welfare, and the latter was intended to suppress conspiracies and malicious 
abuse of the government. They excited great opposition and were almost 
immediately repealed. The war had already been terminated on the accession 
of Napoleon Bonaparte to power in France. 

Mr. Adams failed of re-election, largely because of the division of sentiment 
in regard to the French war. His great patriotism, high moral courage, and his 
ability as a statesman, were somewhat marred by a strange lack of tact, and a 
stupendous vanity, which sometimes made him ridiculous, but his countrymen 
could well afford to forget such minor faults, and remember only his manifold 
ser\^ices in their common cause. He was succeeded by a man no less great. 
Thomas Jefferson was the son of a Virginia planter, received his education at 
William and Mary College, studied law and engaged in its practice. He resolved, 
on entering public life, never to engage, while in public office, in any kind of 



2l6 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



enterprise for the improvement of his fortune, nor to wear any other character 
than that of a farmer. When he came to the Presidency his country already 
owed him much. As a member of the Continental Congress he wrote the draft 
of the Declaration of Independence ; returning to Virginia, he inaugurated a 
reformed system of laws in that State, and becoming its Governor rendered in- 
valuable aid to the armies during the closing years of the Revolution ; he shared 
with Gouverneur Morris the credit of devising our decimal system of money; 
he succeeded Franklin as Minister to France, and on his return from that post, 
was informed that Washington had chosen him for the first Secretary of State. 

He wished to decline further 
public service, but " It is not for 
an individual," said he to the 
President, "to choose his post; 
you are to marshal us as may be 
best for the public good." A 
difference of three electoral votes 
made Adams President and Jef- 
ferson Vice President, but in 
1800, a political revolution re- 
versed the majority and made him 
the third President. Although 
a leader of a party, he exerted 
himself to allay partisan rancor, 
and he resolutely refused to make 
official positions for his political 
friends, by removing from office 
men whose only offense was a 
difference of political opinion. 

Jefferson was re-elected by 
a largely increased majority. 
During his administration, the 
territory of Louisiana was pur- 
chased from France ; the famous expedition of Lewis and Clarke set out to 
explore this new domain ; the importation of slaves was forbidden ; the pirates 
of Tripoli and Algiers were suppressed ; the first steamboat began to navigate 
the Hudson, and the growing troubles with Great Britain and France caused 
the enactment of laws called the Embargo and Non-intercourse Acts, intended, 
by cutting off our commerce with those countries, to compel them to respect 
our neutrality. These two measures resulted in little but failure, as they 
caused great distress at home, and were repealed before they could have 
much effect abroad. 




JOHN ADAMS. 

1735-1826. 
One Term, 1 797-1801. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



217 



iiliiilllillililllilliiiliPiilfiffiiilll^ 



When James Madison came to be the fourth President, he found the 
difficulties with England and France still unsettled. These countries being 
ancient enemies, and being almost continually at war, it was almost impossible 
to be on friendly terms with one without making an enemy of the other ; 
neither would respect our rights as a neutral nation ; each was in the habit 
of seizing and selling our ships and cargoes bound for the ports of the other, 
and England, in addition, assumed the right to search our vessels, examine 
their crews, and compel to enter her service any sailor who had been an 
English subject. These troubles were not new. Jay's treaty, in 1795, had 

vainly attempted to adjust a part 
of them, and as our country grew 
in strength it gradually became 
impossible for the people longer 
to submit. 

The War of 181 2, the "Sec- 
ond War for Independence," has 
been treated in another chapter. 
It occupied most of Madison's 
administration, and though not 
vigorously conducted, it demon- 
strated the military and naval 
resources of the country and 
caused the American flag to be 
respected all over the world ; 
and by cutting off the supply of 
foreign goods it compelled the 
starting of cotton and woollen 
mills in this country, and this 
resulted in the building up of 
home manufactures. 

The presidency of Mr. Madi- 
son is not the portion of his career 
apon which his fame rests ; his best services to his country were in his work as 
a constructive statesman. In the shaping of the Constitution and in securing 
its adoption he shared with Hamilton the chief honors. He was, doubtless, 
happy when, at the close of his second administration, he could retire to his 
Virginia estate and spend the remaining twenty years of his life in scholarly ease. 
Madison was succeeded by another Virginian, a gallant soldier of the Revo- 
lution, who had laid down his books at William and Mary College to complete 
his education in the Continental army. James Monroe was eighteen years old 
when he took part in the battle of Trenton, and his record justified the confi- 




JAMES MADISON. 

■751-1836 
Two Tervts, 1809-1817, 



m 



218 



JAMES MONROE. 



dence with which his countrymen universally regarded him. In his inaugural 
address he took as a symbol of the enduring character of the Union, the 
foundation of the Capitol, near which he stood to deliver the address, 
and which had survived the ruins of the beautiful building recently burnt 
by the British. So popular was President Monroe, and so wisely did he 
administer the affairs of State that on his re-election there was no opposing 
<'andidate, and he lacked but one of a unanimous vote in the electoral 
<;ollege. This vote was cast for John Quincy Adams, simply in order " that 
no later mortal should stand in Washington's shoes " in being unanimously 
elected. Monroe's two terms 
comprise an eventful period in 
our history ; the Government 
pensioned its Revolutionary sol- 
diers and their widows, spending 
in all sixty-five million dollars in 
this noble work ; Florida was 
purchased from Spain ; the Na- 
tional Road was begun at Cum- 
berland, Md., finally to extend 
as far as Illinois, and to be of 
inestimable service in the open- 
ing and development of the 
West ; but the subject which 
took the deepest hold upon the 
minds of the people was that of 
the extension of slavfery. Follow- 
ing the "Era of Good Feeling" 
ushered in by Monroe's adminis- 
tration, came a serious division 
in public feeling as to whethe 
slavery should be permitted in 
the northern part of the territory 

west of the Mississippi. The question arose so suddenly and was so fiercely 
debated that Jefferson declared that it terrified him, "like a fire-bell m the 
night," and he feared serious trouble between the States, the actual outbreak 
of which was postponed, by a series of compromises, for a period of forty 
years. Henry Clay's Missouri Compromise quieted the quarrel for some 

twenty-five years. 

President Monroe is perhaps most widely renowned as the author of the 
"Monroe Doctrine "—that no European nation has a right to interfere with the 
affairs of any American State— a doctrine to which our Government has steadily 




JA*!ES MONROE. 

1758-1831. 
Tmo Terms, 1817-1825. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



219 



adhered. It is interesting to note that the man who had served his country so 
well in the high position of its Chief Magistrate was willing, after the close of 
his second term, to accept so humble a post as that of Justice of the Peace, and 
so continue a public servant ; but it is sad to relate that Mr. Monroe's great 
generosity and public spirit left him, in his old age, embarrassed by debt, and 
necessitated the giving up of his residence at Oak Hill, in Virginia, to end his 
days in the home of a son-in-law, in New York. 

The "Era of Good Feeling" had left no organized national parties in 
politics, and there were four candidates voted for to succeed Monroe. This 

resulted in there being no ma- 
jority in the electoral college, and 
the final choice was therefore 
made by the House of Repre- 
sentatives, John Ouincy Adams 
thus becoming the sixth Presi- 
dent. He was, perhaps, as well 
equipped for the position, at least 
in breadth of information, knowl- 
edge of state-craft, and 
ence in political affairs, 
man who has ever filled 
the age of fifteen he was secre- 
tary to the Minister to Russia ; 
after graduating at Harvard, and 
practicing law for a few years, he 
became United States Minister 
at the Hague, and afterwards at 
Berlin, St. Petersburg and Lon- 
don ; he had represented Massa- 
chusettes in the National Senate, 
and during the Presidency of Mr. 
Monroe he had been Secretary 
of State. His administration was not marked by any measure of national 
importance, but is notable as the era in which a number of projects for the 
promotion of commercial intercourse met with the success they deserved. 

We have already mentioned the National Road. It was no more impor- 
tant than the Erie Canal, "Clinton's Big Ditch," as it was derisively called, 
which was opened in 1825; and the experiments with "steam wagons" 
resulted, in 1828, in the opening of a line of railroad which now forms part of 
the Baltimore & Ohio system. The first spadeful of earth was turned by the 
venerable Charles Carroll, of Carrollton, the only survivor of the signers of the 




experi- 
as any 
it. At 



JOHN QUIvrV ADAMS. 

1767-1848. 
One Term, 1825-1829. 



220 



ANDREW JACKSON. 



Declaration of Independence, who remarked in so doing, that he considered 
this among the most important acts of his Hfe, " second only to that of signing 
the Declaration of Independence, if second to that." 

It is also to be noted that this era marks the beginning of that social move- 
ment, which in less than seventy years has resulted in so marked a change in 
the views of Americans regarding the use of intoxicants. 

Andrew Jackson, the seventh President, was the first who was not a citizen 
either of Massachusetts or Virginia. He was also the first who was not already 
known to his countrymen as a distinguished statesman. He was exceedingly 
popular, however, owing to his 
military services and to his ener- 
getic, honest and fearless, though 
headstrong, character. He had 
led a strange and eventful life. 
In his boyhood he had known ali 
the hardships and privations of 
absolute poverty ; at the age of 
fourteen he was a prisoner of 
war, and nearly starved by his 
British captors. He studied law 
and emigrated from North Caro- 
lina to Tennessee. After that 
territory became a State he rep- 
resented it in Congress, and for 
a short time in the Senate. He 
was continually involved in quar- 
rels, fought several duels and 
made many bitter enemies as 
well as many warm friends. His 
success in leading the Tennessee 
militia against the Indians gained 
for him the reputation which 

caused his appointment to command in the Southwest near the close of the war 
of 1812, and his brilliant defence of New Orleans gave "Old Hickory" a 
place in the hearts of his countrymen which resulted in their electing him to 
succeed John Quincy Adams as President, and his ability and integrity were 
so manifest that he was re-elected in 1832 by the electoral votes of all the 
States except seven. 

No period of our history is more interesting than the eight years of 
Jackson's administration. He was the first President to dismiss large numbers 
of officials in order to replace them by his own partisans. The anti-slavery 




ANDREW JACKSON. 

1767-1845- 
Twf Terms, 18^9-1837. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



221 



movement took definite shape during this time, and William Lloyd Garrison 
began the publication of the famous Liberator, and American literature had its 
be(rinnings. 

At this time came the first serious danger of a rupture between the States. It 
grew out of the tariff legislation, which South Carolina, under the lead of John 
C. Calhoun, undertook to nullify. The payment of the duties was refused, but 
the President sent General Scott to Charleston to enforce the law, and under 
the advice of Henry Clay a new and more satisfactory tariff was adopted. 
This difficulty and Jackson's determined opposition to the United States Bank, 

his fight against it, resulting in 
its destruction, are the events of 
this administration which pro- 
duced the most marked and last- 
ing effect upon our national his- 
tory. After the close of his 
second term he lived in retire- 
ment at his home, the famous 
"Hermitage," near Nashville, 
until his death, eight years later. 
Martin Van Buren had 
hardly entered upon the duties 
of the presidency when the great 
panic of 1837 occurred. It re- 
sulted from a variety of causes, 
among which may be mentioned 
the ereat number of worthless 
banks which sprang up after the 
discontinuance of the United 
States Bank ; the prevalence of 
wild speculation, particularly in 
land, and the action of the 
Government in demanding that 
. One good effect of this great 
Treasury of the United States, 




MARTIN VAN BUREN. 

1782-1862. 

One Term, 1837-1841. 



the banks should repay its deposits in coin, 
public calamity was the establishment of a 
independent of any bank or system of banks. 

It was during this administration that the Mormons formed their settlement 
in Nauvoo, Illinois, and in 1840 a regular line of steamships was established 
between Liverpool and Boston. 

Mr. Van Buren was a native of New York, had served his State in various 
offces of trust, including that of Governor, had been its Representative in the 
United States Senate, had been Minister to England, Secretary of State during 



222 



WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON— JOHN TYLER. 



most of Jackson's first administration, and Vice-President during his second. He 
continued, for several years after the close of his terms as President, to take 
an active part in politics, and in 1848 he was the candidate of the anti- 
slavery Democrats, or "Free Democracy," for President, after which he took 
no part in public affairs, though he lived at his native place, in Columbia 
County, New York, until nearly the middle of the war of the Rebellion. 

For forty years the Democrats had retained control of the national 
government, but the administration of Van Buren had not been popular, 
and the change in public sentiment was so great that in the election of 1 840 
he was defeated by General 
William Henry Harrison, who 
had been the unsuccessful candi- 
date four years before. The 
political campaign was the most 
exciting that had yet occurred ; 
the enthusiasm for the Whig 
candidate was very great, and 
the " Log-cabin and Hard Cider" 
campaign will be long remem- 
bered. 

The character of the suc- 
cessful candidate justified high 
expectations of his administra- 
tion. Left at an early age to 
depend upon himself, he liad 
entered the army and won dis- 
tinction under General Wayne, 
in the Indian wars ; he had been 
long identified with the develop- 
ment of what is now Indiana 
and Ohio; had represented Ohio 
in the United States Senate, and 

filled several other offices of more or less note, and was living, when elected, 
on his farm, not far from Cincinnati. He made^ judicious selection of Cabinet 
officers, but within a month after his ina guration, and before any definite line 
of policy had been established, he died, after a very brief illness, probably 
caused by the fatigue and excitement of his inauguration. 

John Tyler was the first Vice President of the United States to become 
President. He had been made the Whig candidate largely from motives of 
policy, as he had been an active Democrat, and as a member of that party had 
been elected Governor of Virginia, and had represented that State in the 




WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON. 

1773-1841. 
One Month, 1841. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



223 



United States Senate, He had, however, been opposed to both Jackson and Van 
Buren, and had for some time been acting with the Whigs. He soon quarreled, 
however, with the Whig Congress, the subject of contention being the proposed 
revival of the United States Bank. This quarrel continued throughout the 
Presidential term, to the great hindrance of public business. Two events which 
marked a new era, the one in our methods of communication, the other in the 
relief of human suffering, took place during this time ; they were the invention 
of the electric telegraph, and the use of ether in surgery. The events of 
greatest political importance were the settlement, by the Ashburton treaty, 

of a troublesome dispute with 
Great Britain, concerning the 
northeastern boundary of the 
United States, and just at the 
close of Tyler's administration, 
the annexation of Texas. The 
latter was a step which had for 
some time been under discus- 
sion, it being advocated by the 
South as a pro-slavery measure, 
and opposed by the anti-slavery 
party. Texas had made itself 
independent of Mexico, and 
asked to be annexed to the 
United States, a request which 
was thus finally granted. Mr. 
Tyler returned to private life at 
the close of his Presidential term, 
and took little part in public 
affairs until the breaking out of 
the Civil War. At the time of 
his death he was a member of 
the Confederate Congress. 
The Democrats were again successful in 1844, and on March 4th, 1845, 
James K. Polk became the eleventh President. He was a native of North 
Carolina, but in boyhood had removed with his father to Tennessee.* He was- 
well educated, and was unusually successful in his profession of the law. He 
Was for fourteen years a member of Congress and was Speaker of the House 
for five consecutive sessions. On his declining a re-election to Congress he 
was made Governor of Tennessee, and as a candidate for the Presidency 
in 1844 was successful in uniting the warring factions of the Democrats. 
He came to the Presidency at a critical time. The annexation of Texas had 




JOHN TYLER. 

1790-1862. 
One Partial Tertn, 1841-1845. 



224 



ZACHARY TAYLOR.- 



involved the country in difficulties with Mexico, and the question of the 
northern boundary west of the Rocky Mountains threatened to interrupt the 
cordial relations between the United States and England. The latter question 
was settled by accepting the parallel of forty-nine degrees of north latitude, 
thus making the boundary continuous with that east of the mountains, but 
the trouble with Mexico culminated in war, which resulted, in less than two 
years, in the complete conquest of that countr)^ California and New Mexico 
were ceded to the United States on the payment of fifteen millions of dollars 
and the assumption of certain debts of Mexico. It was just at this time that 
gold was discovered in California, 
and the wonderful emigration to 
that territory began. Mr. Polk 
survived his Presidential term 
only some three months. 

The pendulum of popular 
!avor had again swung over to 
the side of the Whigs, and their 
candidate was elected the twelfth 
President. General Zachary Tay- 
lor had grown up amid the pri- 
vation and difficulties of frontier 
life in Kentucky. By the in- 
fluence of Madison, the then 
Secretary of State, who was a 
relative of the family, he received 
an appointment as lieutenant in 
the United -'States army, and 
served with great distinction in 
the Indian wars which then ha- 
rassed our frontiers. At the 
time of the annexation of Texas 
he was in command of the army 

in the Southwest, with the rank of Brigadier-General. His management of 
affairs during the time which preceded the Mexican War was marked by great 
discretion* and his brilliant conduct of the opening campaign brought him 
great popularity and led to his nomination for the Presidency by the Whigs, 
to the great chagrin of some of the leaders of the party, who saw in 
his success the disappointment of their own ambition, and who distrusted 
a candidate who had no experience in legislative or executive affairs. 
This distrust, however, has not been shared by the majority of the 
people, either in the case of General Taylor, or of other Presidential 




JAMES KNOX POLK. 

1795-1849. 
One Term, 1845-1849. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



22 = 



candidates ot purely military renown, and such a candidate has usually 
been sure of success. 

The question of the extension of slavery was again being fiercely agitated, 
and seemed once more likely to disrupt the country. General Taylor lived 
only some sixteen months after his inauguration, dying before the heat of the 
debate in Congress had abated. 

The Vice-President who by the death of General Taylor came to be the 
Chief Magistrate of the country, was Millard Fillmore, of New York. He was 
an admirable type of the American citizen, owing this high position to his own 

attainments, and to his own un- 
aided exertions. He received 
no pecuniary assistance after his 
tourteenth year, except a small 
loan, which he punctually repaid. 
With exceedingly little previous 
education, he began, at the age 
of nineteen, the study of law, 
which he prosecuted under the 
most adverse circumstances, but 
so successfully as to place him 
in the front rank of the lawyers 
of the State of New York. He 
was for several terms a member 
of the lower house of Congress, 
where he distinguished himself 
as a wise, prudent, honest legis- 
lator. He was Chairman of the 
Committee on Ways and Means 
which framed the tariff of 1842, 
and althougrh he claimed no 
originality for the principles on 
which it was based, he is justly 
entitled to be considered its author. 

His Presidential term is chiefly remembered by the debate in Congress on 
the extension of slavery in the territory gained by the Mexican War, resulting 
in the adoption of the compromise measures proposed by Henry Clay, including 
the Fugitive Slave Law. This law, which gave the owners of runaway slaves 
the right to call on all citizens to assist in arresting and restoring them to 
their owners, was exceedingly unpopular in the North, and did much to 
prevent Mr. Fillmore's renomination, and to increase anti-slavery sentiment 
in the North. 
15 




ZACHARY TAYLOR. 

1784-1850. 
One Partial Term, 1849-1850. 



226 



FRANKLIN PIERCE. 



Mrs. Stowe's famous story, "Uncle Tom's Cabin," was published in 1852, 
and had a great influence in hastening the impending conflict. At the close of 
his term Mr. Fillmore retired to Buffalo, where he resided until his death, 
in 1874. 

Again the Whigs were retired from control of the national government 
and a Democratic President elected. Franklin Pierce had been a life-long 
resident of New Hampshire. He was a graduate of Bowdoin College, was 
widely known as an able and successful lawyer, and though his name is not 
especially connected with any great measure, he had represented his State in 
both Houses of Congress. He 
expressed in his inaugural ad- 
dress the belief that all ques- 
tions concerning slavery should 
be considered settled by the 
compromise measures of 1850, 
and the hope that " no sectional 
or ambitious, or fanatical excite 
ment mi^ht agrain threaten the 
durability of our institutions or 
obscure the light of our pros- 
perity." 

Among- the notable events 
of his administration may be 
mentioned the international ex- 
hibition in the "Crystal Palace" 
in New York, in 1853, in which 
the pre-eminence of Americans 
in the invention of labor-saving 
machinery was manifested ; the 
expedition of Commodore Perry 
to Japan, which resulted in open- 
ings to American commerce the 

ports of that interesting country, which no foreigners had previously been 
allowed to enter ; and the adjustment of a dispute with Mexico concerning the 
western portion of the boundary between the two countries, resulting in the 
purchase by the United States of a considerable district, included in the 
present territories of Arizona and New Mexico. But the facts which chiefly 
characterize this administration concern the irrepressible conflict about slavery. 
The Kansas-Nebraska Act in 1854 repealed the Missouri Compromise, and 
made the question of slavery in all the Territories optional with the people 
of the Territories, as had been done by the Compromise of 1850, for the 




MILLARD FILLMORE. 

18CO-1874. 
One Partiat Term, 1850-1853. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



227 



territory acquired from Mexico. The passage of this law led to much ill- 
feeling and to great efforts by both Northern abolitionists and Southern 
slaveholders to encourage the emigration of their sympathizers to Kansas, in 
order to govern the decision in regard to slavery. The strife of these opposing 
parties became so serious as to result in much bloodshed, and from 1S54 to 
1859 that territory deserved the name of " Bleeding Kansas," and during much 
of that time it was in a state of civil war. , 

Mr. Pierce took no prominent part in public affairs after his retirement 
from the Presidency. The Whig party had now finally disappeared, and in the 

election of 1856 the Democrats 
were once more successful. 
James Buchanan was a Pennsyl- 
vania lawyer, a graduate of 
Diclcinson College, and so promi- 
nent in his profession that his 
name appears in the " Pennsyl- 
vania Reports" between 181 2 
and 1 83 1 more frequently than 
that of any other lawyer. He 
had served ten years in Congress, 
had represented his country as 
Minister to Russia and to Eng- 
land, and as .Secretary of State 
under President Polk had been 
called upon to adjust questions 
of the gravest and most delicate 
character. 

At the opening of his Ad- 
ministration the public strife was 
greatly allayed by the general 
confidence in the ability and the 
high patriotism of the Presidert; 
but the announcement of the " Dred Scott Decision," which had been 
deferred so as not to give new cause for excitement during a Presidential 
campaign, stirred the nation to a degree before unknown. This decision 
declared the Missouri Compromise unconstitutional, and therefore void, that 
Congress had no right to forbid the carrying of slaves into any State or 
Territory, and opened all the Free States to at least a temporary establishment 
of slavery. This was the beginning of the end of the contest. The attempt 
of John Brown, a citizen of Kansas, with about twenty men, to liberate the 
Slaves in Virginia, their seizure of the Government buildings at Harper's 




FRAXKLIN PIERCE. 

1804-186S. 

One Term, 1853-1857. 



228 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



Ferry, their capture, and the hanging of the leader, with six of his men, only 
hastened the final conflict. 

A great business panic occurred in 1857, and the discovery of silver in 
Nevada and Colorado the following year; the no less important discovery of 
petroleum and natural gas in Pennsylvania occurred in 1859. 

After the Presidential election of i860 it became evident that the South 
would not quietly submit to the defeat which they had received, and South 
Carolina, followed by six other Southern States, adopted " ordinances of seces- 
sion," assuminsf to dissolve their union with the other States, and declarino 
themselves free and independent 
nations. The President took 
no action to prevent secession, 
and most of the forts, arsenals, 
and other national property with- 
in these States were seized. Mr. 
Buchanan retired to private life 
at the close of his term as Presi- 
dent. 

Of all the men, since Wash- 
ington, who have been Presi- 
dents of the United States, Abra- 
ham Lincoln holds the largest 
share in the affections of the 
people. His lowly origin, his 
early poverty and privation, the 
never-failing kindness with which 
throuehout his life he met all 
classes of men, and the homely 
and genial wit which enlivened 
his discussion of grave matters 
of State as well as his casual 
and friendly conversation, gave 

him a place in the hearts of the common people not held by , any othef 
American, while his unequaled knowledge of men, his ability to cope with 
unforeseen difficulties, his lofty purpose and perfect honesty, together with 
his practical good sense, not only brought him the respect and esteem of all 
who came to know him, but place him among the greatest statesmen, not of 
America alone, but of all countries in all times. 

Born and reared in the backwoods, with nothing in his surroundings t;c 
stimulate ambition, chopping wood and splitting rails, learning to read from the 
spelling-book and the Bible, sitting up half the night to read Pilgrim's Progress 




JAMES BUCHANAN. 

1791-1868. 
One Term, 1857-1861. 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 229 

and ^sop's Fables " by the blaze of the logs his own axe had split," he came 
to manhood with little education, but with perfect health and gigantic strength. 
At the age of twenty-five he took up the study of law, and early began to take 
part in the local political movements. He had represented his district in 
Congress, but at the time of his nomination for President had litUe reputation 
outside of Illinois. ^ 

He came to the Presidency amid a multitude of adverse circumstances. 
With seven States already seceded, the border States apparently ready to follow,' 
with the capital surrounded by a hostile population, and without the confidence 
of the leaders of his own party, his would indeed seem a difficult task. His 
first measures were intended to convince the people of the South, if they were 
willine to be convinced, that he had no hostile intention, but at the same time 
diat he proposed to "preserve, protect, and defend" the Union and to main- 
tain the rights and the authority of the Government. The story of the War of 
the Rebellion cannot be told here. It is a story the like of which forms part of 
the history of no other nation — the story of a war engaging at one time 
1,700,000 men, the war debt of the North, representing but a part of the cost 
of the war, amounting to $3,000,000,000, and the expense frequently exceed- 
ing ^3,500,000 a day. 

Aside from the essentially military features of the war, the most notable 
event of Mr. Lincoln's Administration was the freeing of the slaves, which was 
done as a war measure, by the Emancipation Proclamadon, Januar)- i, 1863, thus 
finally, after the expiration of nearly a hundred years, making good in our 
country the words of the Declaration of Independence, that "all men are cre- 
ated equal." 

It can be truthfully said that President Lincoln carried the administration 
of the Government in this troublous time, not only as a load upon his brain, 
but as a burden in his heart ; a united country was the object of all his efforts, 
and when, only a month after his second inauguration, he was assassinated by a 
misguided and mistaken Southern sympathizer, the bullet of the murderer 
removed as true a friend as the South possessed. The war was already at an 
end, and had Abraham Lincoln lived to rebuild and reconstruct the Union he 
had saved, many of the difficulties of the era of reconstrucdon might have been 
avoided — difficulties whose evil effects have not yet disappeared from our 
national politics. 

No fkct in our history demonstrates more fully the perfection of our system 
of government and the hold which it has upon the confidence of our people 
than the quiet change of Chief Magistrates at the close of a Presidential term. 
Four times in our history this change has been caused by death, and now, when 
the beloved President had been assassinated, when the whole country was 
excited and alarmed, when grave questions wpre pending and matters of the 



23" 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



utmost delicacy required adjustment, the Vice-President quietly assumed the 
office, and the routine of government proceeded as before. 

Andrew Johnson was a native of North Carolina. He was the son of poor 
parents, and, learning the tailor's trade, he earned his living for a number of 
vears as a journeyman. He taught himself to read, and after emigrating 
Lo Tennessee he learned from his wife to write and cipher. He represented his 
district for several terms in Congress, and was chosen United States Senator in 
1857. He was nominated for Vice-President by the Republicans in 1864. 
mainly to invite votes from the opposite party, as until the war he had been a 

.consistent Democrat. Unfortu- 
nately, he differed with the lead- 
ing Republicans in Congress on 
the question of the manner in 
which the States lately in rebel- 
lion were to resume their places 
in the Government, and the 
difference grew into a violent 
quarrel, which lasted till the 
close of his term, and resulted, 
in 1868, in the impeachment of 
the President by Congress. He 
was acquitted, however, the vote 
in the Senate lacking- one of the 
I' two-thirds necessary to convict. 
The chief political events of the 
Administration were the read- 
mission of si.x: of the seceded 
States and the adoption of three 
■amendments to the Constitution 
— the Thirteenth, abolishing 
slavery; the Fourteenth, making 
the negro a citizen, and the 
I'^ifteenth, giving him the right to vote. (See Chapter on Negro.) 

During this time, also, the Government began the payment of the 
war debt, the first Atlantic cable was laid, and x'Maska was added 10 our 
national domain. 

The success which had attended the Union armies after they passed under 
the command of General Ulysses S. Grant made him the popular idol, and obvi- 
ously the most available candidate for President. He was a native of Ohio, a 
graduate of West Point, and had served in the Mexican War, where he war 
promoted for meritorious conduct in battle. At the opening of the Civil War 




ANDREW JOHNSON. 

1808-1875, 
One Partial Term, 1865-1869. 



ULVSSES SIMPSON GRANT. 



231 



he raised a company of volunteers in Illinois, of which State he was then a 
citizen, was soon made a brigadier general, and from that point the story of 
his life is a part of the history of the war. 

General Grant was the recipient of honors from foreign rulers and govern- 
ments such as have been bestowed upon no other American President. His 
fame as a general was recognized throughout the world, and although he had 
iio experience in civil affairs, he had the tact to call into his Cabinet men of great 
ability, and while he may have been sometimes misled by designing men, his 
Administration was so popular that he was re-elected by a greatly-increased 
majority, and indeed might have 
been chosen for a third term had 
not the public feeling been found 
so strongly opposed to violating 
the custom inaugurated by Wash- 
incyton of o-iving to no President 
more than two terms of office. 
Durinof these two terms the first 
Pacific railway was completed ; 
representatives from all the re- 
maining seceded States were 
admitted to Congress ; a treaty 



was concluded with England 




ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT 
(1S'J2-1S8.J.) Two terms, ISIW-ISTT, 



providing for the arbitration of 
the Alabama and other claims, 
Avhich seemed at one time likely 
to involve the two countries in 
war ; the great fires in Chicago 
and Boston destroyed many mil- 
lions of property ; a panic of 
almost unprecedented severity 
occurred (1873), ^^^^ '^'^s Cen- 
tennial Exhibition took place at 

Philadelphia. After the close of his term as President, General Grant made 
a tour of the world, being everywhere received with the greatest honor, after 
which he resided in New York until acttacked by the disease which ended his 
life on Mt. MacGregor, in 1885. 

It has frequently happened that when several rival leaders of the same 
political party have been candidates for President, the Presidential Convention 
has found it wisest to nominate some less prominent man, thus avoidmg the 
loss which might result from the choice of either of the more conspicuous 
aspirants for the office, and the consequent offense to the supporte-s of the 



232 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



others. This was the case when a successor to General Grant was to be 
chosen. While Rutherford B. Hayes had been a Brigadier-general in the 
Union army, and had twice been elected Governor of Ohio, he was by no 
means conspicuous aS a national leader. There was great dissatisfaction 
with the course of the men who had obtained control of the political 
machinery of the Republican party, and the election depended on the counting 
of the electoral votes of Louisiana and Florida. To settle the legality of these 
votes, the famous Electoral Commission was appointed by Congress, and 
decided in favor of General Hayes as against his competitor, Samuel J. Tilden. 

The quiet and peaceful solution 
of this dispute is one of the 
greatest triumphs of our system 
of Government. The Republican 
party had been in office for four 
Presidential terms, had success- 
fully conducted the affairs of the 
nation during the trying and 
dangerous periods of the Civil 
War and Reconstruction. Many 
of the measures which had been 
during this time adopted as a 
part of our system had been 
consistently and strenuously op- 
posed by the Democrats. Under 
these circumstances the Repub- 
licans viewed the possible ac- 
cession to power of the Demo- 
cratic party with a degree of 
alarm, which has since proved to 
be unjustifiable. Each party 
claimed, and probably believed, 
that its candidate had been 
elected, and each was disposed to insist on its rights under the Constitution. 
Such a dispute in a country where men's passions are less under the control 
of their reason, would inevitably have led to civil war. The two Houses of 
Congress were of different politics, and their agreement upon what seemed an 
equitable method of adjusting the dispute, together with the acquiescence of 
all parties in the decision of the tribunal thus created, make it a remarkable 
instance of the adaptability of our institutions, and go far to justify the most 
complete faith in their permanence. General Hayes was a successful lawyer, a 
lifelong citizen of Ohio, and while his administration gave great offense to 




RUTHERFORD BIRCHARD HAYES. 

1822 

One Term, 1877-1881. 



/AMES ABRAM GARFIELD. 



23.^ 



many political leaders, it was generally satisfactory to the people. At the 
close of his term he retired to his native State. 

The chief events of his Presidency were : his withdrawal of troops from 
the South, thus leaving the people of that section to settle their own questions 
in their own way ; the great railroad and coal strikes, during which United States 
troops had to be employed to suppress violence at Pittsburgh, and the resumption 
of specie payments, in 1879. (See Chapter on Finance.) 

The twentieth President was likewise a citizen of Ohio. The early life o( 
James A. Garfield was somewhat similar to that of Abraham Lincoln. He had, 
however, the advantage of early 
contact with cultivated people, 
and while he at one time drove 
mules upon the tow-path of a 
canal, and paid for his tuition by 
acting as janitor of the school- 
house, he had opportunities for 
education of which he availed 
himself to the utmost, paying his 
own way through school and 
finally graduating at Williams 
College. At the opening of the 
war he entered the Union army, 
and was promoted, for his servi- 
ces at the battle of Chickamauga, 
to the rank of Major-general. 
He left the army to enter Con- 
gress, where he took a leading 
part, and was chosen Senator 
for Ohio, but before taking his 
seat was elected President. He 
surrounded, himself with able 
advisers, and high hopes were 

entertained of a notably successful Administration, when he was shot by a 
disappointed ofifice-seeker, dying after two months of suffering, during which the 
public sympathy was excited to an extraordinary degree and was manifested in 
every possible way. 

The single event for which the few months of his Presidency are remarkable 
is the quarrel between the President and Senator Conkling, of New York, 
as to some of the Federal appointments in that State. The Senator from 
New York resigned, and the difficulty was not adjusted at the time of the 
President's death. 




JAMES A. GARFIELD 
(1831-1881.) One iiarti.il ti-riu, Issl. 



234 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



The Vice-President elected witli Garfield was Chester A. Arthur, of New' 
York. He was not widely known outside his own State before his nomination, 
and he was made the candidate in order to retain the favor of a large portion 
of the Republican pafty in New York which had advocated the claims of another 
candidate, and it was feared would not otherwise assist in the election of 
Garfield. 

Mr. Arthur had great experience as a political manager, but little knowl- 
t ige of the manner in which the Government is conducted ; but he proved a 
careful, conscientious President, and the country was well satisfied with his 

administration. As he had been 
an adherent of the political faction 
with which President Garfield, at 
the time of his assassination, was 
at war, he was placed in an ex- 
ceedingly delicate position, and 
grave fears were entertained by 
many people that backward steps 
would be taken ; but the new 
President extricated himself from 
his difticulties with a dignity anc 
a tact which astonished even 
those who knew him best, and 
which gained for him the respect 
of the entire country. 

During the term of President 
Arthur, Congress passed the Civil 
Service Act, providing for the 
appointment of subordinate em- 
ployees of the Government on 
the basis of merit rather than 
that of poHtical influence ; the 
completion of the great East 
i<.iver Bridge united the cities of New York and Brooklyn, and the immense 
growth and prosperity of the New South justified the brightest anticipations 
for the future of that section. Mr. Arthur died in New York a few months 
after the close of his term. 

The Republican part)^ had now held control of the Government for twenty- 
five years, and Grover Cleveland was the first Democratic President since 
Buchanan. Although a native of New Jersey, he has been since boyhood a 
citizen of New York. He began the study of law in Buffalo at the age of 
eighteen, and early took an active part in politics. Having filled several loca) 




CHESTER ALAN ARTmm. 

1830-1886. 
One Partial Term, 1S81-1885. 



GROVER CLFA'ELAND— BENJAMIN HARRISON 



235 




offices, he was, in 1S82, elected Governor of the State by a phenomenal ma- 
jority, and in 1884 was the successful candidate for President. 

The transfer of the Government from the hands of one political party 
to Its opponent resulted in no disturbance to the business or social relations 
of the people, and although a large number of officeholders were replaced by 
men of the opposite political faith, the business of the Government went on as 
before. During Cleveland's administration laws were enacted providing for the 
succession to the Presidency of the various members of the Cabinet in case of 

the death or disability of the ^ 

President and Vice-President ; . I 

lavlns: down rules for the count- 
ing of the electoral votes, thus 
supplying the strange deficiency 
of the Constitution in this re- 
spect; regulating inter-State com- 
merce, and forbidding Chinese 
laborers to emigrate to this 
countrv. Events of crreat Im- 
portance were the extended labor 
strikes, which occurred in 1S86, 
and the Anarchist riot in Chicacfo 
in May of that year. Although 
his administration had been very 
satisfactory to the country at 
large, Mr. Cleveland failed of 
re-election, the principal cjues- 
tion at issue being that of a 
protective tariff. He left Wash- 
ington to take up the practice 
of law in New York cit)-. 

Mr. Cleveland was suc- 
ceeded by General Benjamin Harrison who secured 223 electoral votes to 168 
cast for Mr. Cleveland. Mr. Harrison, the grandson of the ninth President, 
and the great-grandson of one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, was a native of Ohio, well educated, and was for many years one 
of the leading lawyers of Indiana. He entered the Union Army in 1862, and 
was promoted until, near the close of the war, he reached the rank of Brigadier- 
general. He was made a United States Senator in 1880, and came to the 
Presidency well equipped for the discharge of its duties. 

During his four years of service manj- noted events took place which 



STEPHEN GROVER CLEVELAND. 

1837 

First Term, 1SS5-1S89; Second TV* ;«, 1393-1897. 



236 



THE STORY OF AMERICA. 



promise to have great weight in moulding the future of the country. A Con- 
gress of the American Republics met in Washington, in 18S9, and devised 
measures which resulted in bringing about a closer commercial union between 
the Americas ; six new States were also added to the Union. The tariff laws 
were revised and clauses added granting to such nations as offer us reciprocal 
advantages free admission for certain of their exports. Several new vessels 
were built giving us a new and efficient navy ; the longstanding difficulty with 
England concerning seal fishing in Behring Sea was adjusted by a treaty. 

providing for arbitration, and an- 



noying difficulties with Germany, 
Italy and Cliili were happily 
settled. 

The Presidential campaign 
of 1892 was remarkable in several 
respects. The leading candi- 
dates, ex-President Cleveland and 
President Harrison, were both 
men of the highest character and 
integrity, each of whom had served 
the country with notable ability as 
I'resident for a term of four 
\ears. The people were, there- 
tore, so well acquainted with the 
I andidates that personalities en- 
tered little into the campaign, and 
the canvass was conducted with 
less popular enthusiasm and ex- 
citement than ever before. The 
question most largely discussed 
was that of the McKinley tariff, 
but other important questions, 
such as the free coinage of silver and the revival of State banks, entered largely into 
the discussion, and had much to do with influencing the result, especially in the 
Western States, where party lines were very largely broken up! The result of 
the election was almost a political revolution ex-President Cleveland being 
elected by an overwhelming majority of 382,956 popular, and 132 electoral 
votes. The Populists also polled a very large vote. The result of the election 
was generally accepted as a condemnation of the McKinley tariff For the first 
time in thirty years the Democratic party had full possession of all branches of 
the crovernment. 




b£NJAMIX HARRISON, 
One Term, 1889-1893. 



CLEVELAND'S SECOND ADMINISTRATION. 237 

The whole of President Cleveland's second administration was threatening 
and stormy. One of the first difficulties presented itself in the Hawaiian 
Question. 

Early in the year 1S93, by a successful revolution, without bloodshed, the 
native Queen, Liliuokalani, of the Sandwich Islands, was forced to abdicate and 
a provisional government established, the chief officers of which were Ameri- 
cans by birth or parentage. A proposition for annexation was made by them 

■ to the United States, and a treaty looking to that end was negotiated under the 
administration oi President Harrison, and sent to the Senate for ratification. 
On President Cleveland's accession to office, he was convinced that the revo- 

' lution had been accomplished by the active aid of the American minister and 
troops, and thereupon made a demand that the Queen should be restored. The 
provisional government ot Hawaii, however, declined to comply, and Congress 
took no measures to restore the monarchy. 

In the spring and summer of 1893 the country experienced an unexpected 

and remarkable stringency in the money market, which was largely attributed to 

the operations of what is known as the "Sherman Law," by which the Govern- 

[ ment was compelled to purchase iour and one-half million ounces of silver every 

! month. President Cleveland shared the prevailing sentiment as to the cause of 

■ the stringency and called an extra session of Congress to meet early in August, 
for the purpose of repealing the purchasing clause of the "Sherman Law." 
This appeared to bring some relief in the way of restoring confidence in the 
east but the west was displeased, the country had already suffered so greatly 
from the general depression of trade and the withdrawal of credits that a panic 
was inevitable. Many banks failed and "hard times" prevailed. 

In July, 1894, T'^^ American Railway Union, an organization of railway 
employees, ordered a general strike on all roads running Pullman cars, resulting 
in a great conflict between capital and labor. Railroad tracks entering Chicago 
were torn up, and cars, freight and property were destroyed. President Cleve- 
land finally sent troops of the regular army to quell the riot. 

The state elections in the autumn of 1S94 brought another political revolu- 
tion, changing the House of Representatives elected in 1892, from 219 Demo- 
crats and 127 Republicans to 100 Democrats and 245 Republicans in 1894. 

Mr. Cleveland's course in relation to Cuba while generally unpopular was 
in accordance with the principles of non-interference promulgated by Washington, 
and, no doubt kepf us out of a destructive and expensive war with Spain. His 
bold stand in the defense of the "Monroe Doctrine," which was being disre- 
, garded by England in the dispute oVer the Venezuelan boundaries, led to the 
signing of the "Treaty of Arbitration " by the governments of the United States 
and Great Britain. This has been pronounced by men who speak with calm 
judgment the greatest event of the century, marking perhaps more than any 



238 



PRESIDENT Mc KIN LEY. 



other the progress of civilization, and the growing supremacy of the Anglo 

Saxon race. 

The campaign of 1S96 was the most remarkable and hotly contested cam- 
paio^n in the history of our nation. Both the old parties — Democratic and Repub- 
lican — were seriously divided over the financial question. Old issues were 
largely buried and the great batde was fought upon the question of a Bimetallic 
or a Sino-le Gold Standard as a basis for our national currency. The Democrats 
favored the free and unlimited coinage of both silver and gold, at a ratio of six- 
teen to one, and an immediate establishment of a bimetallic standard. The 

Republicans favored the mainten- 
ance of the existing Gold stand- 
ard, at least until International 
Bimetallism mieht be effected. 

William McKinley of Ohio 
was nominated for President, and 
Garret A. Hobart of New Jersey 
for Vice-President by the Repub- 
lican Convention. The Demo- 
crats nominated William J. Bryan 
of Nebraska for President, and 
Arthur Sewall of Maine for the 
Vice-Presidency. The Populist 
Party and the " Silver Wing " of 
the Republican Party endorsed 
Mr. Bryan's nomination and gava 
him their support, the Populists 
substituting Thomas E. Watson 
of Georgia for Vice-President. 
The Gold Standard Democrats 
met in convention and put out 
a special ticket headed by Gen- 
erals Palmer of Illinois and Buckner of Kentucky. But there is litde doubt 
that more old-time Democrats cast their ballots for McKinley and Hobart 
than voted the Palmer and Buckner ticket. The result was the largest popular 
vote, by nearly two millions, ever cast in the country and Mr. McKinley's election 
by a plurality of 630,745 popular votes and 96 electoral votes over Mr. Bryan. 
On March 4th, 1897, President McKinley was inaugurated in the presence 
of an immense assemblage. He immediately called an extra session ol Con- 
gress, which convened March 15th, 1S97. This Congress passed the Dingley 
Tariff Bill increasing the duties on imports. On December ist Congress met in 
regular session. His wise administration during the Spanish-American War 
established him in the front rank of living statesmen. [See chapter XV.] 




WILLIAM MtKlNLLY. 

1843-1901. 

One Term, 1897-1901. 














CHAPTER XI II. 
THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 

Opening Incidents— Bombardment of JMatanzas— Dewey's Wonderful Victory at Manila— Disaster to 
the Wiitslow at Cardenas Bay— The First American Loss of Life— Bombardment of San Juan, 
Porto Kico— The Elusive Spanish Fleet— Bottled-up in Santiago Harbor— Lieutenant Hobson's 
Daring Exploit— Second Bombardment of Santiago and Arrival of the Army— Gallant Work of the 
Rough Riders and the Regulars— Battles of San Juan and El Caney— Destruction of Cervera's 
Fleet— General Shafter Reinforced in Front of Santiago— Surrender of the Cit.v— General Miles in 
Porto Rico— An P^asy Conquest— Conquest of the Philippines— Peace Negotiations and Signing of 
the Protocol— Its Terms— Members of the National Peace Commission— Return of the Troops from 
Cuba and Porto Rico — The Peace Commission in Paris— Conclusion of its Work — Terms of the 
Treaty — Ratified by the Senate. 



"stripping for the fight. 
ExouGH has already been stated to show the real cause of the war between 
the United States and Spain, It was, in brief, a war for humanity, for America 
could no longer close her ears to the wails of the dead and dying that lay 
perishing, as may be said, on her very doorsteps. It was not a war for con- 
quest or gain, nor was it in revenge for the awful crime of the destruction of 
the Ilaine, though few nations would have restrained their wrath with such 
sublime patience as did our countrymen while the investigation was in progress. 
Yet it cannot be denied that this unparalleled outrage intensified the war fever 
in the United States, and thousands were eager for the opportunity to punish 
Spanish cruelty and treachery. Congress reflected this spirit when by a unani- 
mous vote it appropriated $50,000,000 "for the national defense." The War 
and Navy Departments hummed with the activity of recruiting, the prepara- 
tions of vessels and coast defenses, the purchase of war material and vessels at 
homf^. while agents were sent to Eurojie to procure all the war-shij)s in the market 

239 



240 THE SPANISH-A3IERICAN WAR. 

Unlimited capital was at their command, and the question of price was never an 
obstacle. When hostilities impended the United States was unprepared for war, 
but by amazing activity, energy, and skill the preparations were pushed and 
completed with a rapidity that approached the marvelous. 

War being inevitable. President McKinley souglit to gain time for our 
consular representatives to leave Cuba, where the situation daily and hourly 
grew more dfingerous. Consul Hyatt remained at Santiago until April 7th, 
and Consul-Geueral Lee at Havana until April 10th, with the resolu- 
tion that no American refugees should be left behind, wliei-e very soon 
their lives would not be worth an hour's purchase. Lee hnuled in Key W'est 
April 11th, and on the same day President McKinley sent his message upon the 
situation to Congress. On April 18tli tlu two houses adojtted the following : 

Whereas, The abhorrent conditions which have existed fi>r more than three years in the island 
of Cuba, so near our own borders, have shocked the moral sense of the people of the United .States. 
have been a disgrace to Christian civilization, culminating, as they have, in the destruction of a United 
States battle-ship with 206 of its officers and crew, while on a friendly visit in the harbor of Havana, 
and cannot longer be endured, as has been set forth by the President of the United States in his 
message to Congress of April 11, 1898, upon which the action of Congress was invited; therefore. 

Resolved, By the Senate and Hoase of Representatives of the United States of America, in 
Congress assembled — 

First — That the people of the island of Cuba are, and of right ought to be, free and independent. 

Second — That it is the duty of the United States to demand, and the government of the United 
States does hereby demand, that the government of Spain at once relinquish its authority and govern- 
ment in the island of Cuba, and withdraw its land and naval forces from Cuba and Cuban waters. 

Third — That the President of the United States be, and he hereby is. directed and empowered to 
use the entire land and naval forces of the United States, and to call into the actual service <if the 
United States the militia of the several States, to such extent as may be necessary to carry these reso- 
lutions into effect. 

Fourth — That the United States hereby disclaims any disposition or intention to exercise 
sovereignty, jurisdiction, or control over said island, except for the pacification thereof and asserts its 
determination when that is completed to leave the government and control of the island to its people. 

This resolution was signed by the President April 20th, and a copy served 
on the Spanish minister, who demanded his passports, and immediately left 
Washington. The contents were telegraphed to United States Minister Wood- 
ford at Madrid, with instructions to officially communicate them to the Spanish 
government, giving it until April 23d to answer. The Spanish authorities, 
however, anticipated this action by sending the American minister his passports 
on the morning of April 21st. This act was of itself equivalent to a declara- 
tion of war. 

The making of history now went forward with impressive swiftness. 

On April 22d the United States fleet was ordered to blockade Havana. 
On the 24th Spain declared war, and the United States Congress followed with a 



THE SPANISH-A3IEEICAN WAR. 



241 



similar declaration on the 2'3th. The call for 75,000 volunteer troops was increased 
to 125,000 and subsequently to 200,000. The massing of men and stores was 
rapidly begun throughout the country. Within a month expeditions were organ- 
ized for various iioints of attack, war-vessels were bought, and ocean passenger 
steamers were converted into auxiliary cruisers and transports. By the first 
of July about 40,000 soldiers had been sent to Cuba and the Philippine Islands. 
The rapidity with whicli prejmrations were made and the victories gained and 
the pi-ogress shown by the Americans at once astonished and challenged the 
admiration of foreign nations, who had regarded America as a country unpre- 
pared for war by land or sea. On 
April 27th, following the declaration 
of war on the 25th, Admiral Samp- 
son, having previously blockaded the 
harbor of Havana, was reconnoiter- 
ing with three vessels in the vicinity 
of ]\Iatanzas, Cuba, when he dis- 
covered the Spanish forces building 
earthwoi'ks, and ventured so close 
in his efforts to investigate the same 
that a challenge shot was fired from 
the fortification, Rubal Cava. Ad- 
miral Sampson quickly formed the 
Xcir York, Cincinnati, and Puritan 
into a triangle and opened fire with 
their eight-inch guns. The action 
was very spirited on both sides for 
the space of eighteen minutes, at the 
expiration of which time the Spanish 
batteries were silenced and the earth- 
works destroyed, without casualty on 
the American side, though two sliells 
burst diingerously near the New York. The last shot fired by tlie Americans 
was from one of the Puritan s thirteen-inch guns, which landed with deadly 
accuracy in the very centre of Rubal Cava, and, exploding, completely 
destroyed the earthworks. This was the first action of the war, though it. 
could hardly be dignified by the name of a battle. 




ADMIRAL GEORGE DEWEY. 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA. 

It was expected that the next engagement would be the bombardment of 
IMorro Castle, at Havana. But it is the unexpected that often happens in war. 



15 



242 THE BATTLE OF 3JAXJLA. 

In the Pliilipjiine Islands, on the other side of the world, the first real battle — - 
one of the most remarkable in history — was next to occui'. 

On April 25th the following dis23atch of eight potent words was cabled to 
Commodore Dewey on the coast of China: "Capture or destroy the Spanish 
squadron at Manila." "Never," says James Gordon Bennett, "were instructions 
more effectively carried out. Within seven hours after arriving on the scene of 
action nothing remained to be done." It was on the 27th that Dewey sailed 
from Mirs Bay, China, and on the night of the 30th he lay before the entrance 
of the harbor of Manila, seven hundred miles away. Under the cover of dark- 
ness, with all lights extinguished on his ships, he daringly steamed into this 
unknown harbor, which he believed to be strewn with mines, and at daybreak 
engaged the Spanish fleet. Commodore Dewey knew it meant everything for 
him and his fleet to win or lose this battle. He was in the enemy's country, 
7,000 miles from home. The issue of this battle must mean victory, Spanish 
dungeons, or the bottom of the ocean. "Keep cool and obey orders" was the 
signal he gave to his fleet, and then came the order to fire. The Americans 
had seven ships, the Olympia, Baltimore, Raleigh, Petrel, Concord, Boston, ant 
the disj^atch-boat McCullough. The Sjianiards had eleven, the Reina Christina, 
Castilla, Don Antonio de Ulloa, Isla de Luzon, Isla de Cuba, Oenei'al Lczo, 
Marquis de Duero, Cano, Velasco, Isla de 3Ii.ndanao, and a transport. 

From the beginning Commodore Dewey fought on the offensive, and, after 
the manner of Nelson and Farragut, concentrated his fire upon the strongest 
ships one after another with terrible execution. The Spanish ships were inferior 
to his, but there were more of them, and they were under the protection of the 
land batteries. The fire of the Americans was especially noted for its terrific 
rapidity and the wonderful accuracy of its aim. The battle lasted for about 
five hours, and resulted in the destruction of all the Spanish ships and the 
silencing of the land batteries. The Spanish loss in killed and wounded was 
estimated to be fully one thousand men, while on the American side not a shij) 
was even seriously damaged and not a single man was killed outright, and only 
six were wounded. More than a month after the battle, Captain Charles B. 
Gridley, Commander of the Olympia, died, though his death was the result 
of an accident received in the discharge of his duty during the battle, and not 
from a wound. On May 2d Commodore Dewey cut the cable connecting 
Manila with Hong Kong, and destroyed the fortifications at the entrance of 
Manila Bay, and took possession of the naval station at Cavite. This was to 
prevent communication between the Philippine Islands and the government at 
Madrid, and necessitated the sending of Commodore Dewey's official account of 
the battle by the dispatch-boat McCullough to Hong Kong, whence it was 
cabled to the United States. After its receipt, May 9th, both Houses adopted 



THE SPANISH-AMERK'Ay WAR. 243 

resolutions of congratulation to Commodore Dewey and his officers and men for 
their gallantry at Manila, voted an appi'opriation for medals for the crew an<l a 
fine sword for the gallant Connuander, and also passed a bill authorizing tiie 
President to appoint another rear-admiral, which honor was promptly conferred 
upon Connnodore Dewey, accompanied by the thanks of the President and of 
the nation for the admirable and heroic services rendered his country. 

The Battle of Manila must ever remain a monument to the daring and 
courage of Admiral Dewey. However unevenly matched the two fleets 
may have been, the world agrees with the eminent foreign naval critic who 
declared: "This complete victory was the product of forethought, cool, well- 
balanced judgment, discipline, and bravery. It was a magnificent achievement, 
and Dewey will go down in history ranking with John Paul Jones and Lord 
Nelson as a naval hero." 

Admiral Dewey might have taken possession of the city of Manila imme- 
diately. He cabled the United States that he could do so, but the fact remained 
that he had not sufficient men to care f)r his ships and at the same time effect a 
successful landing in the town of Manihi. Therefore he chose to remain on his 
ships, and though the city was at his mercy, he refrained from a boinl)ar(linent 
because he believed it would lead to a massacre of the Spaniards on the part of 
the insurgents surrounding the city, which it would be beyond his power to stop. 
This humane manifestation toward the conquered foe adds to the lustre of the 
hero's crown, and at the same time places the seal of greatness uj^on the brow 
of the victor. He not only refraineil from bombarding the city, but received 
and cared for the wounded Spaniards upon his own vessels. Thus, while he did 
all that was required of him without costing his country the life of a single 
citizen, he manifested a spirit of humanity and generosity toward the vanquished 
foe fully in keeping with the sympathetic spirit which involved this nation in 
the war for humanity's sake. 

The Battle of Manila further demonstrated that a fleet with heavier guns is 
virtually invulnerable in a campaign with a squadron bearing lighter metal, 
however gallantly the crew of the latter may fight. 

After the Battle of Manila it was recognized that the government had 
serious trouble on its hands. On ^lay 4tli President McKinley nomiinited ten 
new Major-Geuerals, including Thomas H. Wilson, Fitzhugh Lee, Wm. J. 
Sewell (who -was not commissioned), and Joseph Wheeler, from jirivate life, 
and promoted Brigadier-Generals Breckinridge, Otis, Coppinger, Shafter, 
Graham, Wade, and Merriam, from the regular army. The organization 
and mobilization of troops was promptly begun and rapidly pushed. oMeantime 
our naval vessels were actively cruising around the Island of Cuba, expecting 
the appearance of the Spanish fleet. 



244 



THE BOMBARDMENT OF SAN JUAN. 



On INIay lltli the gunboat Wilmington, revenue-cuttei* Hudson, and the 
torpedo-boat Windoiv entered Cardenas Bay, Cuba, to attack the defenses and 
three small Spanish gunboats that had taken refuge in the harbor. The W'nishvt 
being of light draft took the lead, and when within eight hundred yards of the 
fort was fired upon with disastrous effect, being struck eighteen times and ren- 
dered heljjless. For more than an hour the frail little craft was at the mercy 
of the enemy's batteries. The revenue-cutter Hudson (piickly answered her 
signal of distress by coming to the rescue, and as she was in the act of drawing 
the disabled boat away a shell from the enemy burst on the Winslow^s deck, 
killing three of her crew outright and wounding manv more. Ensign A\^orth 




CAMP SCENE AT CHICKAMAUGA. 



Bagley, of the Winsloic, who had recently entered active service, was one of the 
killed. He was the first officer who lost his life in the war. The same shell 
badlv wounded Lieutenant Bernadou, Commander of the boat. The Hudson, 
amidst a i-ain of fire from the Spanish gunboats and fortifications, succeeded in 
towing the ^Y^nslow to Key West, where the bodies of tlie dead were jirepared 
for burial and the vessel was placed in repair. On May 12th the First Infantry 
landed near Port Cabanas, Cuba, with supplies for the insurgents, which they 
succeeded in delivering after a skirmish with the Spanish troops. This was the 
first land engagement of the war. 

On the same date Admiral Sampson's squadron arrived at San Juan, Porto 
Kico, whither it had gone in the expectation of meeting with Admiral Cervera'a 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 245 

fleet, which had sailed westward from the Cape Verde Islands on Ajiril 29th, 
after Portugal's declaration of neutrality. The Sjianish fleet, however, did not 
materialize, and Admiral Sampson, while on the ground, concluded it would be 
well to draw the fire of the forts that he might at least judge of tlieir strength 
and efficiency, if indeed he shouhl not render them incapable of assisting the 
Spanish fleet in the event of its resorting to this jjort at a later period. Accord- 
ingly, Sampson bombarded the batteries tlefending San Juan, inflicting much 
damage and sustaining a loss of two men killed and six wounded. The loss of 
the enemy is not known. The American war-ships sustained only trivial in- 
juries, but after the engagement it could be plainly seen that one end of Moi'ro 
Castle was in ruins. The Cabras Island fort was silenced and the San Carlos 
battery was damaged. No shots were aimed at the city by the Araeiican fleet. 
Deeming it unnecessary to wait for the Spanish war-ships in the vicinity of 
San Juan, Sampson withdrew his squadron and sailed westward in the hope of 
finding Cervera's fleet, which was dodging about the Caribbean Sea. First it 
was heard of at the French island, Martini(pie, whence after a short stay it 
sailed westward. Two days later it haltetl at the Dutch island, Curagoa, for 
coal and supplies. After leaving this point it was again lost sight of. Tlien 
began the chase of Commodore Schley and Admiral Sampson to catch the 
fugitive. Schley, with his flying squadron, sailed from Key West around the 
western end of Cuba, and Sampson kept guard over the Windward and other 
passages to the east of the island. It was expected that one or the other of these 
fleets would encounter the Spaniard on the open sea, but in this thev wore mis- 
taken. Cervera was not making his way to the Mexican shore on the west, as 
some said, nor was he seeking to slip through one of the passages into the 
Atlantic and sail home to Spain, nor attack Commodore Watson's blockading 
vessels before Havana, according to other expert opinions expressed and widely 
published. For many days the hunt of the war-ships went on like a fox-chase. 
On May 2od Commodore Schley blockaded Cienfuegos, supposing that Cervera 
was inside the harbor, but on the 24th he discovered his mistake and sailed to 
Santiago, where he lay before the entrance to the harbor for three days, not know- 
ing whether or not the Spaniard was inside. On May 28th it was positively dis- 
covered that he had Cervera bottled up in the narrow harbor of Santiago. He 
had been there since the 19th, and had landed 800 men, 20,000 Mauser rifles, a 
great supply of ammunition, and four great guns for the defense of the city. 

OPERATIONS AGAINST SANTIAGO. 

On May 31st Commodore Schley opened fire on the fortifications at the 
mouth of the harbor, which lasted for about half an hour. This was for the 
purpose of discovering the location and strength of the batteries, some of which 



246 



OPERATIONS AGAINST SANTIAGO. 



were concealed, and in this lie was comjsletely successful. Two of the batteries 
were silenced, aud the flagship of the Spaniards, which took part in the engage- 
ment, was damaged.. The Americans received no injury to vessels and no loss 
of men. On June 1st Admiral Sampson arrived before Santiago, and relieved 
Commodore Schley of the chief command of the forces, then consisting of six- 
teen war-ships. 

Admiral Sampson, naturally a cautious commander, suffered great appre- 
hension lest Cervera might slip out of the harbor and escape during the dark- 
ness of the night or the jn-ogress of a storm, which would compel the blockading 
fleet to stand far off shore. There was a point in the channel wide enough for 
only one war-ship to pas:s at a time, r 
and if this could be rendered im- 
passable Cervera's doom would be 
sealed. How to reach and close this 
passage was the difficult problem to 
be solved. On either shore of the 
narrow channel stood frowning forts 
with cannon, and there were other 
fortifications to be passed before it 
could be reached. Young Lieutenant 
Richmond Pearson Hobson, a naval 
engineer, had attached himself to Ad- 
miral Sampson's flagship, JVew York, 
just before it sailed from Key West, 
and it was this young man of less 
than thirty years who solved the pro- 
blem for Admiral Sampson by a plan 
all his own, which he executed with 
a heroic daring that finds perhaps no 
parallel in all naval history. At three 
o'clock A. M., June 3d, in company 

with seven volunteers from tliei\^ew; York and other ships, he took theUnited States 
collier 3Ierrimac, a large vessel with 600 tons of coal on board, and started with 
the purpose of sinking it in the channel. The chances were ten to one that the 
batteries from the forts would sink the vessel before it could reach the narrow 
neck, and the chances were hardly one in one hundred that any of the men on 
board the collier would come out of this daring attempt alive. The ship had 
hardly started when the forts opened fire, and amid the thunder of artillery and 
a rain of steel and bursting shells the boat with its eight brave heroes held on 
Us way, as steadily as if they knew not their danger. The channel was reached. 




RICHMOND PEARSON HOBSON. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 247 

and the boat turned straight across the channel. The sea-doors were opened 
and torpedoes exploded by the intrepid crew, sinking the vessel almost instantly 
near the position desireii. As the ship went down the men, with side-arms 
buckled on, took to a small boat, and, escape being. impossible, they surremlered 
to the enemy. It seems scarcely less than a miracle that any of the eight men 
escapetl, yet the fact remained that not one of them was seriously injui-ed. The 
Spaniards were so impressed with this act of bravery and heroism that they 
treated the prisoners with the utmost courtesy, confined them in JNIorro Castle, 
and Admiral Cervera promptly sent a special officer, under a flag of truce, to 
inform Admiral Sampson of their safety. The prisoners were kept confined in 
Morro Castle for some days, when they were removed to a place of greater safety, 
where they were held until exchanged on July 7th. 

THE SECOND BOMBARDJIEXT OF SANTIAGO AXD THE COMING OF THE ARMY. 

On the Gth of June the American fleet under Admiral Sampson bombarded 
the forts of Santiago for about three hours. The gunners were all instructed, 
however, to spare Morro Castle lest they should inflict injuiy upon Hobson and 
his heroic companions, who were then confined within its walls. Nearly all of 
the fortifications at the entrance of the harbor were silenced. An examination 
after the fleet had withdrawn revealed the fact that no lives were lost on the 
American side, and none of the vessels were seriously injured. The Spanish 
ship Reina Mercedes was sunk in the harbor, she being the only ship from the 
enemy's fleet which ventured within the range of the American's guns. 

The danger of entering the narrow hari)or in the face of Cervera's fleet 
rendered it necessary to take the city by land, ami the government began pre- 
parations to send General Shafter with a large force from Tampa to aid the fleet 
in reducing the city. Some 15,000 men, including the now famous Eough 
Eiders of New York, wei-e hurried upon transports, and under the greatest con- 
voy of gunboats, cruisers, and battle-ships which ever escorted an army started 
for the western end of the island of Cuba. 

But the honor of making the first landing on Cuban soil be]on2;s to the 
raai-ines. It was on June the 10th, a few days before the army of General 
Shafter sailed from Tampa, that a landing was effected by Colonel Huntington's 
six hundred marines at Caimanera, Guantanarao Bay, some distance ea^t of 
Santiago. The object of this landing was twofold : first, to secure a place where 
our war-ships could safely take on coal from colliers, and, second, to unite if pos- 
sible with the insurgents in harassing the Spaniards until General Shafter 's army 
could arrive. Furthermore, Guantanamo Bay furnished the American ships a 
safe harbor in ease of storm. 

In the whole history of the war few more thrilling passages are to ])e 



248 



SECOND BONBARDMENT OF SANTIAGO. 



found than the record of this brave baud's achievements. The jjlace of landing 
was a low, round, bush-covered hill on the eastern side of the bay. On the 
crest of the hill was a small clearing occupied by an advance j^ost of the 
Spanish army. When the marines landed and began to climb the hill, the 

I enemy, with little resistance, retreated to the woods, and the marines were soon 

^ occupying the cleared sjiace abandoned by them. They had scarcely begun to 
compliment themselves on their easy victory when they discovered that the 
retreat had only been a snare to lure them into the open space, while unfor- 
tunately all around the clearing the woods grew thick, and their unprotected 

- position was also overlooked by a range of higher hills covered with a dense 
undergrowth. Tims the Spanish were 
able under cover of the bushes to 
creep close up to our forces, and they 
soon began to fire upon them from the 
higher ground of the wooded range. 
The marines replied vigorously to the 
fire of their hiddeii foe, and thus con- 
tinued their hit-and-miss engagement 
for a period of four days and nights, 
with only occasional intermissions. 
Perhajis the poor marksmanship of the 
Spaniards is to be thanked for tlit' 
fact that they were not utterly anni- 
hilated. On the fourth day the Span- 
ish gave u\) the contest and aban- 
doned the field. 

Major Henry C. Cochrane, second 
in command, states that he slept only 
an hour and a half in the four days, 
and that many of his men became so 
exhausted that they fell asleep stand- 
ino; on their feet with their rifles in 
their hands. It is remarkable that during the four days the Americans lost only 
six killed and about twenty wounded. The Spaniards suffered a loss several times 

' as great, fifteen of them having been foued by the Americans dead on the field. 
It is not known how many they carried away or how many were wounded. 




MAJOH-GENEHAL FITZHUGH LEE. 



THE T.ANDING OF SHAFTER S ARMY. 

On June 13th troops began to leave Tampa and Key West for operations 
against Santiago, and on June 20th the transports bearing them arrived off that 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN }VAR. 



249 



city. Two days later General Sliafter landed his army of 1G,000 soldiers at 
Daiquiri, a shoi't distance east of the entrance to the harbor, with the loss of 
only two men, and they by accident. Before the coming of the troops the 
Spanish had evacuated the village of Daiquiri, which is a little inland from the 
anchorage bearing tiie same name, and set tire to tlie town, blowing up two 
magazines ant! destroying the railroad round-house containing several locomotives. 
As the transports neared the landing-jilaee Sampson's ships opened fire upon 
Juragua, engaging all the forts for about six miles to the west. This was done 
to distract the attention of the Spanish from the landing soldiers, and was 
entirely successful. After the forts were silenced the Neiv Orleans and several 

gunboats shelled the woods in ad- 
vance of the landing troops. The 
soldiers went ashore in full fighting 
trim, each man carrying thirty-six 
rations, two huntlred rounds of am- 
munition for his ritle, and a shelter- 
tent. 

While the troops were landing 
at Daiquiri, the battle-ship Texas, 
hitherto considered as an unfortu- 
nate ship by the attaches of the navy, 
completely changed her reputation 
and distinguished herself by assail- 
ing and silencing, nnaided, the 
Spanish battery La Socapa at Santi- 
ago, wliich had hitherto withstood 
the attacks against it, though all the 
ships of Commodore Schley's com- 
mand had twice fiercely bombarded 
it without result. Captain Philij) 
and his men were complimented in 
warm terms of praise by Admiral Sampson. The Texan was struck but once, 
and that by the last shot from the Spanish fort, killing one man and wounding 
eight others, seriously damaging the ship. 




BEAH-ADMIHAL WILLIAM T. SAMPSON. 



THE VICTORY OF THE ROUGH RIDERS. 

On June 24th the force under General Shafter reached Juragua, and the 
battle by land was now i-eally to begin. It was about ten miles out from San- 
tiago, at a point known as La Quasina. The country was covered with high 
grass and chaparral, and in this and on the wooded hills a strong force of 



250 



THE VICTORY OF THE ROUGH RIDERS. 



Spaniards was hidden. Lieutenant-Colonel Eoosevelt's Rough Riders, tech- 
nically known as the First Volunteer Cavalry, under command of Colonel 
Wood, were in the fight, and it is to their bravery and dash that the glory of 
the day chiefly belongs. Troops under counnand of General Young had been 
sent out in advance, with the Rough Riders on his flank. There were about 
1,200 of the cavah-y in all, including the Rough Riders and the First and 
Tenth Reguhirs. They encountered a body of two thousand Spaniards in a 
thicket, wlioni they fought dismounted. The volunteers were especially eager 
for the fight, and, perhaps due somewhat to their own imprudence, wei'C led into 
an ambuscade, as perfect as was ever 
planned by an Indian. Tlie main 
bodv of the Spaniards was posted on 
a hill approached by two heavily 
wooded slo[)es and fortified by two 
blockhouses, flanked by intrench- 
ments of stones and fallen trees. At 
the bottom of these hills run two 
roads, along one of which the Rough 
Riders marched, and along the other 
eight troops of the Eighth and Tenth 
Cavalry, under General Young. 
These roads are little more than gul- 
lies, very narrow, and at places al- 
most impassable. Nearly half a 
mile separated Roosevelt's men from 
the Regulars, and it was in these 
trails that the battle began. 

For an hour they held their 
position in the midst of an unseen 
force, which poured a perfect hail of 

bullets upon them from in front and on both sides. At length, seeing that their 
only way of escape was by dashing boldly at the hidden foe, Colonel Wood took 
command on the right of his column of Rough Riders, placing Lieutenant- 
Colonel Roosevelt at the left, and thus, with a rousing yell, they led their soldiers 
in a rushing charge before which the Spaniards fled from the hills and the vic- 
torious assailants took the blockhouses. The Americans had sixteen killed and 
fifty-two wounded, forty-two of the casualties occurring to the Rough Riders and 
twenty-six among the Regulars. It is estimated that the Spanish killed were 
nearly or quite one hundred. Thirty-seven were found by the Americans dead 




GENERAL MAXIMO GOMEZ. 
T/tr Washington of Cuba is the title applied to this hero, 
who, as Commander-in-Chief of the patriot army, made 
Cuban liberty possible. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 251 

on tlie ground. They had carried off their wounded, and doubtless thought 
they had taken most of the killed away also. 

PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT UPON SANTIAGO, 

The victory of the Rough Riders and the Regulars at La Quasina, though 
so" dearly bought, stimulated the soldiers of the whole army with the spirit of 
war and the desire for an opportunity to join in the conquest. They had not 
long to wait. The advance upon Santiago was vigorously prosecuted on the 
land side, while the ships stood guard over the entrapped Spanish Admiral 
Cervera in the harbor, and, anon, shelled every fort that manifested sighs of 
activity. On June 2oth, Sevilla, within sight of Santiago, was taken by General 
Chaffee, and an advance upon the city was planned to be made in three columns 
by way of iVltares, Firmeza, and Juragua. General Garcia with 5,000 Cuban 
insurgents had placed himself some time before at the command of the American 
leader. On the 2Sth of June another large expedition of troops was landed, so 
that the entire force under General Shafter, including the Cuban allies, num- 
bered over 22,000 fighting men. 

The enemy fell back at all points until the right of the American column 
was within three miles of Santiago, and by the end of June the two armies had 
well-defined positions. The Spanish intrenchments extended around the city, 
being kept at a distance of about three and one-half miles from the corjioration 
limits. The trenches were occupied by about 12,000 Spanish soldiers, and there 
were some o-ood fortifications along the line. 

It was the policy of General Shafter to distribute his forces so as to face 
this entire line as nearly as possible. A week was consumed, after the landing 
was completed, in making these arrangements and in sending forward the 
artillery, during which time the battle of La Quasina, referred to, and other 
skirmishes and engagements occurred. Meantime the ships of Admii-al Samp- 
son had tlragged up the cables and connected them by tap-wii-es with Shafter's 
headquarters, thus establishing communication directly with Washington from 
the scene of battle. 

THE BATTLES OF SAN JUAN AND EL CANEY. 

The attack began July 1st, involving the whole line, but the main struggle 
occurred opposite the left centre of the column on the heights of San Juan, and 
the next greatest engagement was on the right of the American line at the little 
town of El Caney. These two points are several miles apart, the city of San- 
tiago occupying very nearly the apex of a triangle of which a line connecting 
these two positions would form the base. John R. Church thus described the 
battles of July 1st and 2d : 



252 THE RATTLES OF .SJ.V JUAN AND EL CANEY. 

" El Caney was taken by General Lawton's men after a sharp contest and 
severe loss on both sides. Here as everywhere there were blockhonses and 
trenches to be carried in the face of a hot fire from Mauser rifles, and the rifles 
wei-e well served. The jungle must disturb the aim seriously, for our men did 
not suffer severely while under its cover, but iu crossing clearings the rapid fire 
of the repeating rifles told with deadly effect. The object of the attack on El 
Caney was to crush the Spanish lines at a point near the city and allow us to 
gain a high hill from which the pVace could be bombarded if necessarj'. In all 
of this we were entirely successful. The engagement began at 6.40 a. m., and 
by 4 o'clock the Spaniards were forced to abandon the place and retreat toward 
their lines nearer the city. The fight was opened by Capron's batter}-, at a 
range of 2,400 yards, and the troops engaged were Chaffee's brigade, the 
Seventh, Twelfth, and Seventeenth Infantry, who moved on Caney from the 
east; Colonel Miles' brigade of the First, Fourth, and Twenty-fifth Infantry, 
operating from the south ; while Ludlow's brigade, containing the Eighth and 
Twenty-second Infantry and Second Massachusetts, made a detour to attack 
from the southwest. The Spanish force is thought to have been 1,500 to 2,0(X) 
Btroug. It certainly fought our men for nine hours, but of course had the 
advantage of a fort and strong intrenchments. 

"The operations of our centre were calculated to cut the communications 
of Santiago with El Morro and permit our forces to advance to the bay, and the 
principal effort of General Linares, the Spanish commander in the field, seems 
to have been to defeat this movement. He had fortified San Juan strongly, 
throwing up on it intrenchments that in the hands of a more determined force 
would have been impregnable. 

" The battle of San Juan was opened by Grimes' battery, to which the 
enemy replied with shrajmell. Tlie cavalry, dismounted, supported by Haw- 
kins' brigade, advanced up the valley from the hill of El Pozo, forded several 
streams, where they lost heavily, and deployed at the foot of the series of hills 
known as San Juan under a sharp rii-e from all sides, which was exceedingly 
annoying because the enemy could not be discerned, owing to the long range 
and smokeless powder. They were under fire for two hours before the charge 
could be made and a position reached under the brow of the hill. It was not 
until nearly 4 o'clock that the neighboring hills were occupied by oiir troops 
and the final successful effort to crown the ridge could be made. The obstacles 
interposed by the Spaniards made these charges anything but the 'rushes' 
which war histories mention so often. They were slow and painful advances 
through difficult obstacles and a withering fire. The last 'charge' continued 
an hour, but at 4.43 the firing ceased, with San Juan in our possession. 

" The Spaniards made liberal use of barbed-wire fencing, which proved to 




Drawn by J, SteepU- I)a\is. 

AMERICANS STORMING SAN JUAN HILL 
The most dramatic scene and most dest nidi ve battle of the Spanish War. 1S98. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 253 

be .so effective as a stop to our advance that it is likely to take its place among 
approved defensive materials in future wars. It was used in two ways: Wires 
were stretched near the ground to trip up our men when on the run. Beyond 
them were fences in parallel lines, some being too high to be vaulted over. 

" The object of our attack was a blockiiouse on the top of the hill of Ban 
Juan, guarded by trenches and the defenses spoken of, a mile and a half long. 
Our troojis advanced steadily against a hot fire maintained by the enemy, who 
used their rifles with accui'acy, but diil not cling to their works stubbornly when 
we reached them. San Juan was carried in the afternoon. The attack on 
Aguadores was also successful^ though it was not intended to be more than a 
feint to draw oft' men who might otherwise have increased our difficulties at San 
Jnau. By nightfall General Shafter was able to telegraph that he had carried 
all the outworks and was within three-quarters of a mile of the city. 

"Thouglv the enemy's lines were broken in the principal places, they 
yielded no more than was forced from them, and the battle was resumed on the 
2d. The last day saw our left flank resting on the bay and our lines drawn 
around the city within easy gun-fire. Fears were entertained that the enemy 
would evacuate the place, and the I'ight flank was pushed around to the north 
and eventually to the northwest of the city." 

In the fight at San Juan General Linares, commanding the Spanish forces 
in Santiago, was severely wounded, and transferred the command to General 
Jose Toral, second in authority. 

THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA's FLEET. 

During the previous two days' fight by land the fleet of Admiral Cervera 
in Santiago harbor had taken an active part in shelling our positions, with no 
inconsiderable effect; and General Shafter, largely on this account, had about 
despaired of taking the city, with the force at his command. In fact, he went 
.so tai' on the morning of July 3d as to telegrajDli Washington that his losses 
had been greatly underestimated, that he met with stronger resistance than 
he had anticipated, and was seriously considering falling back to a position five 
miles to the rear to await reinforcements. He was also anxious for an interview 
with Admiral Sampson. The fleet had been shelling the enemy during the two 
days' fight, but it was necessary that the navy and array have a clearer under- 
standing; and at 8.30 o'clock on Sunday morning Admiral Sampson with his 
flagship New York steamed eastward for the purpose of conferring with the 
general. 

General Miles telegraphed General Shafter, in response to his request to 
hold his position, that he would be with him in a week with strong reinforce- 
ments; and he promptly started two expeditions, aggregating over 6,000 men. 



254 



THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET. 



•which reached Santiago on the 8th and 10th respectively, in time to witness the 
closing engagements and surrender of the city. But foi-tune again favored our 
cause and completely changed the situation, unexpectedly to the American com- 
manders of the land and naval forces. 

It was on Sunday morning, July 3d, just before Sampson landed to meet 
Bhafter, that Admiral Cervera, in obedience to commands from his home 
government, endeavored to run his fleet past the blockading squadron of the 
Americaxis, with the result that all of his ships were destroyed, nearly 500 of 
his mcu killed and wounded, and himself and about 1,300 others were made 
prisoners. This naval engagement 
was one of the most dramatic and 
terrible in all the history of conflict 
upon the seas, and, as it was really 
the beginning of the end of what 
promised to be a long and terrible 
struggle, it was undoubtedly the most 
important battle of the war. 

It had been just one month, to 
a day, since Hobson sunk the Jlcrri- 
mac at the harbor's mouth to keep 
Cervera in, and for nearly one month 
and a half the fleets of Schley and 
Sampson had lain, like watch-dogs 
before the gate, without for one mo- 
ment relaxing their vigilance. The 
quiet of Sunday morning brooded over 
the scene. Even the winds seemed 
resting from their labors and the sea 
lay smooth as glass. For two days 
before, July 1st and 2d, the fleets 
had bombarded the forts of Santiago 
for the fourth time, and all the ships, except the Oregon, had steam down so 
low as to allow them a speed of only five knots an hour. At half-past nine 
o'clock the bugler sounded the call to quarters, and the Jackies aj^peared on 
deck rigged in their cleanest clothes for their regular Sunday inspection. On 
board the Texas the devout Captain Philip had sounded the trumpet-call to re- 
lisious services. In an instant a line of smoke was seen coming out of the 
harbor by the watch on the Iowa, and from that vessel's yard a signal was run 
up — "The enemy is escaping to the westward." Simultaneously, from her 
bridge a six-pounder boomed on the still air to draw the attention of the other 




EEAH-ADMIRAL WINFIELD SCOTT SCHLEY. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 255 

ships to her fluttering signal. On every vessel white masses were seen scram- 
blingr forward. Jackies and firemen tumbled over one another rushing to their 
stations. Ofiiceis jumped into the turrets through manholes, dressed in their 
best uniforms, and captains rushed to their conning towers. There was no time 
to waste — scarcely enough to get the battle-hatches screwed on tight. Jingle, 
jingle, went the signal-bells in the engine-rooms, and "Steam! Steam!" the cap- 
tains cried through the tubes. Far below decks, in 125 to 150 degrees of heat, 
naked men shoveled in the black coal and forced drafts were put on. 

One minute after the Iowa fired her signal-gun she was moving toward the 
harbor. From under the Castle of jNIorro came Admiral Cervera's flagship, the 
Infanta Maria Teresa, followed by her sister armored cruisers, Ahnirante 
Oquendo and Vizcaya — so much alike that they could not be distinguished at 
any distance. There was also the splendid Cristobal Colon, and after them all 
the two magnificent torpedo destroyers, Pinion and Furor. The Teresa oj^ened 
fire as she sighted the American vessels, as did all of her companions, and the 
forts from the heiohts belched forth at the same time. Countless gevsers around 
our slowly approaching battle-ships showed where the Spanish shells exploded in 
the water. The Americans replied. The battle was on, but at a long i-ange of 
two or three miles, so that the secondary batteries could not be called into use ; 
but thirteen-inch shells from the Oregon and Indiana and the twelve-inch shells 
from the Texas and Iowa were churning up the water around the enemy. At 
this juncture it seemed impossible for the Americans to head off the Spanish 
cruisers from passing the western point, for they had come out of the harbor at 
a speed of thirteen and one-half knots an hour, for which the blockading fleet 
was not prepared. But Admiral Sampson's instructions were simple and well 
understood — "Should the enemy come out, close in and head him off"" — and 
every ship w;is now endeavoring to obey that standing command while they 
piled on coal and steamed up. 

Meanwhile, from the rapidly approaching New York the signal fluttered 
— "Close into the mouth of the harbor and :^ngage the enemy; " but the admiral 
was too far away, or the men were too busy to see this signal, which they were, 
nevertheless, obeying to the letter. 

It Avas not until the leading Spanish cruiser had almost reached the western 
point of the bay, and when it was evident that Cervera was leading his entii*e 
fleet in one direction, that the battle commenced in its fury. The loiva and 
the Oregon headed straight for the shore, intending to ram if j^ossible one or 
more of the Spaniards. The Indiana and the Texas were following, and the 
Brooklyn, in the endeavor to cut off the advance shij), was headed straight for 
the western point. The little unprotected Gloucester steamed right across the 
harbor mouth and engaged the Oquendo at closer range than any of the other 



256 



DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET. 



ships, at the same time firing on the Fwo7- and Pluton, vilnch were rapidly 
approaching. 

It then became apparent that the Oregon and Iowa could not ram, and that 
the Bi'Ookli/)i could jiot head them off, as she had hoped, and, turning in a 
parallel course with them, a running nght ensued. Broadside after broadside 
came fast with terrific slaughter. The rapid-fire guns of the loira nearest the 
Teresa enveloped the former vessel in a mantle of smoke and flame. She was 
followed by the Oregon, Indiana, Texas, and BrooJcIyn, all pouring a rain of 
red-hot steel and exploding shell into the Heeing cruisers as they passed along in 
their desperate effort to escape. The 
Furor and Pluton dashed like mad 
colts for the Brooklyn, and Commo- 
dore Schley signaled — "Repel tor- 
pedo-destroyers." All the heavy 
ships turned their guns upon the 
little monsters. It was short work. 
Clouds of black smoke rising from 
their thin sides showed how seriously 
they suffered as they floundered in 
the sea. 

The Brooklyn and Oregon 
dashed on after the cruisers, fol- 
lowed by the other big ships, leaving 
the Furor and Pluton to the Olou- 
cester, hoping the JS^ew York, which 
was coming in the distance, would 
arrive in time to help her out if she 
needed it. The firing from the main 
and second batteries of all the bat- 
tle-ships — Oregon, loiva, Texas, and 
also the Brooklyn — was turned upon 
the Vizcaya, Teresa, and Oquendo with such terrific broadsides and accuracy of 
aim that the Spaniards were driven from their guns repeatedly; but t lie officers 
gave the men liquor and drove them back, beating and sometimes shooting down 
those who weakened, without mercy; Init under the terrific fire of the Americans 
the poor wretches were again driven away or fell mangled by their guns or 
stunned from the concussions of the missiles on the sides of their ships. 

Presently flames and smoke burst out from the Teresa and the Oquendo. 
The fire leaped from the port-holes ; and amid the din of battle and above it all 
rose the wild cheers of the Americans as both these splendid ships slowly reeled 




HEAR-ADMIHAL JOHN C. WATSON. 

Commander of the Blockading Fleet ftt Uavana. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 257 

like drunken men and headed for the shore. "Tliey are on fire! We've finished 
tliem," shouted the gunners. Down came the Spanish fiags. Tlie news went 
all over the ships — it being commanded by Commodore Schley to keep every- 
one informed, even those far below in the fire-rooms — and from engineers and 
firemen in the hot bowels of the great leviathans to the men in the fighting-tops 
the welkin rang until the old ships reverberated with exuberant cheers. 

This was 10.20 A. m. Previously, the two torpedo boats had gone down, 
and only two dozen of their 140 men survived, these having been picked up by 
the Gloucester, which plucky little unprotected "dare-devil," not content with 
the destruction she had coui-ted and escaped only as one of the unexplainable 
mysteries of Spanish gunnery, was coming up to join the chase after bigger 
game; and it was to Lieutenant Wainwright, her commander, that Admiral 
Cervera surrendered. The 3Iame was avenged. (Lieutenant Wainwright was 
executive officer on that ill-fated vessel when she was blown up February 15th.) 
Cervera was wounded, hatless, and almost naked when he was taken on board 
the Gloucester. Lieutenant Wainwright cordially saluted him and grasped him 
by the hand, saying, "I congratulate you,' Admiral Cervera, upon as gallant a 
fight as was ever made upon the sea." He placed his cabin at the service of 
Cervera and his officers, while his surgeon dressed their wounds and his men 
did all they could for their comfort — Wainwright supplying the admiral with 
clothing. Cervera was overcome with emotion, and the fiice of the old gray- 
bearded warrior was suffused in tears. The loiva and Indiana came up soon 
after the Gloucester and assisted in the rescue of the drowning Spaniards from 
the Oquendo and Teresa, after which they all hurried on after the vanishing 
Brooklyn and Oregon, which were pursuing the Vizcaya and Colon, the only 
two remaining vessels of Cervera's splendid fleet. From pursuer and pursued 
the smoke rose in volumes and the booming guns over the waters sang the song 
of destruction. 

In twenty-four minutes after the sinking of the Teresa and Oquendo, the 
Vizcaya, riddled by the Oregon's, great shells and burning fiercely, hauled down 
her flag and headed for the shore, where she hung upon the rocks. In a dying 
.efiort she had tried to ram the Brooklyn, but the fire of the big cruiser was too 
hot for her. The Texas and the little Vixen were seen to be about a mile to the 
rear, and the Vizcaya was left to them and the loioa, the latter staying by her 
finally, while the Texas and Vixen followed on. 

It looked like a forlorn hope to catch the Colon. She was four and one- 
half miles away. But the Brooklyn and the Oregon were i-unning like express 
trains, and the Texas sped after the fugitives with all her might. The chase 
lasted two hours. Firing ceased, and every power of the ship and the nerve of 

commodore, captains, and officers were devoted to increasing the speed. Men 

17 



258 DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET. 

from the guns, naked to the waist and perspii-ing in streams, were called on deck 
for rest and an airing. It was a grimy and dirty but jolly set of Jackies, and 
jokes were merrily cracked as they sped on and waited. Only the men in the 
fire-rooms were working as never before. It was their battle now, a battle of 
speed. At 12.30 it was seen the Americans were gaining. Cheers went up and 
all was made ready. " We may wing that fellow yet," said Commodore Schley, 
as he commanded Captain Clark to try a big thirteen-inch shell. "Remember 
the Maine " was flung oufr on a pennant from the mast-head of the Oregon, and 
at 8,500 yards she began to send her 1,000-pound shots shrieking over the 
Brooklyn after the flying Spaniard. One threw tons of water on board the 
fugitive, and tlje Brooklyn a few minutes later with eight-inch guns began to 
pelt her sides. Everyone expected a game fight from the proud and splendid 
Colon with her smokeless powder and rapid-fire guns; but all were surprised 
when, after a feeble resistance; at 1.15 o'clock her captain struck his colors and 
ran his shij) ashore sixty miles from Santiago, opening her sea-valves to sink 
her after she had surrendered. 

Victory was at last complete. As the Brooklyn and Oregon moved upon 
the prey word of the surrender was sent below, and naked men j^oured out of 
the fire-rooms, black with smoke and dirt and glistening with jjersjiiration, but 
wild with joy. Commodore Schley gazed down at the grimy, gruesome, joyous 
firemen with glistening eyes suspicious of tears, and said, in a husky voice, 
eloquent with emotion, " Those are the fellows who made this day." Then he 
signaled — "The enemy has surrendered." The Texas, five miles to the east, 
repeated the signal to Admiral Sampson some miles further away, coming at top 
speed of the Neiv York. Next the commodore signaled the admii'al — " A 
glorious victory has been achieved. Details communicated later." And then, to 
all the ships, " This is a great day for our country," all of which were repeated 
by the Texas to the ships further east. The cheering was wild. Such a scene 
was never, perhaps, witnessed upon the ocean. Admiral Sampson arrived before 
the Colon sank, and placing the great nose of the New York against that vessel 
pushed her into shallow water, where she sank, but was not entirely submerged. 
Thus perished from the earth the bulk of the sea power of Spain. 

The Spanish losses were 1,800 men killed, wounded, and made prisoners, 
and six ships destroyed or sunk, the property loss being about $12,000,000. 
The American loss was one man killed and three wounded, all from the Brooklyn, 
a result little short of a miracle from the fact that the Brooklyn was hit thirty- 
six times, and nearly all the shijis were struck more than once. 

The prisoners were treated with the utmost courtesy. Many of them were 
taken or rescued entirely naked, and scores of them were wounded. Their be- 
havior was manly and their fortitude won the admiration of their captors. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 



259 



Whatever may be said of Spanish marksmanship, there is no discount on Spanish 
courage. After a short tletention Cervera and his captured sailoi-s were sent 
north to New Hampshire and tlience to Annapolis, where they were hekl until 
released by order of President McKinley, August 31st. 

THREATENED BOMBARDMENT OF SANTIAGO AND FLIGHT OF THE REFUGEES. 

On July 3d, while the great naval duel was in progress upon the sea, 
General Shafter demanded the surrender of Santiago upon pain of bombard- 
ment. The demand was refused by General Toral, who commanded the forces 

after the wounding of General Lin- 
ares. General Shafter stated that 
he would postpone the bombardment 
until noon of July 5th to allow 
foreigners and non-combatants to 
get out of the city, and he urged 
General Toral in the name of hu- 
manity to use his influence and aid 
to facilitate the rapid departure of 
unarmed citizens and foreigners. 
Accordingly late in the afternoon of 
July 4th General Toral posted no- 
tices upon the walls of Santiago 
advising all women, children, and 
non-combatants that between five 
and nine o'clock on the morning of 
the 5th they might pass out by any 
gate of the city, all pilgrims going on 
foot, no carriages being allowed, and 
stating that stretchers would be pro- 
vided for the crippled. 

Promptly at five o'clock on the 
following morning a great line of pilgrims wound out of Santiago. It was no 
rabble, l)ut well-behaved crowds of men and women, with great droves of chil- 
dren. About four hundred persons were carried out on litters. Many of the 
poorer women wore large crucifixes and some entered El Caney telling their 
beads. But there were many not so fortunate as to reach the city. Along the 
highroads in all directions thousands of families squatted entirely without food 
or shelter, and many deaths occurred among them. The Eed Cross Society did 
much to relieve the suffering, but it lacked means of transporting suppli.es to 
the front. 




MAJOE-GENEKAL WILLIAM R. SHAFTER. 



26o 



THE LAST BATTLE. 



Wliile the flag of truce was still flying on the morning of July (Jih a com- 
munication was received from General Toral, requesting that the time of truce 
be further extended, as he wanted to communicate again with the Spanish 
government at Madrid concerning the surrender of the city; and, further, that 
the cable operators, who were Englishmen and had fled to El Caney with the 
refugees, be returned to the city that he miglit do so. General Shafter extended 
the truce until four o'clock on Sunday, July 10th, and the operators returned 
from El Caney to work the wires for Genei-al Toral. During all this time the 
refugees continued to throng the roads to Siboney and El Caney, until 20,000 
fugitives wei-e congregated at the 
two points. It is a disgraceful fact, 
however, that while this truce was 
granted at the request of the Spanish 
general, it was taken advantage of 
by the troops under him to loot the 
city. Both Cuban and Spanish 
families suffered from their rapai-ity. 

THE LAST BATTLE AND THE SUR- 
RENDER OF THE CITY. 

On July 8th and 10th the two 
expeditions of General Miles arrived, 
reinforcing General Shafter's army 
with over 6,000 men. General 
Toral was acquainted with the fact 
of their presence, and General Miles 
urgently impressed upon him that 
further resistance could but result in 
a useless loss of life. Tlie Spanish 
commander replied that he had not 
received permission to surrender, 
and if the Americans would not wait longer he could only obey orders of 
his government, and that he and his men would die fighting. Accordingly a 
joint bombardment by the army and navy was begun. The artillery reply 
of the Spaniards was "feeble and spiritless, though our attack on the city was 
chiefly with artillery. They seemed to depend most upon their small arms, 
and returned the voUeys fired from the trenches vigorously. Oui- lines were 
elaborately protected with over 22,000 sand-bags, while the Spaniards were 
protected with bamboo poles filled with earth. In this engagement the 
dynamite gun of the Kough Eiders did excellent service, striking the enemy's 




MAJOK-GBNEKAL. J\ t;jj3(Ji\ A. MILES. 



THE SPANTSIH-AMERICAN WAR. 261 

trenches ami blowing tield-pieces into the air. The bombardment continued 
until the afternoon of the second day, when a flag of truce was displayed over 
the city. It was thought that General Toral was about to surrender, bui 
instead he only asked more time. 

On the advice of General Miles, General Shafter consented to another 
truce, and, at last, on July 14th, after an interview with Generals Miles and 
Sliafter, in which he agreed to give up the city on condition that the army 
would be returned to Spain at the expense of America, General Toral surren- 
dered. On July KUh the agreement, with the formal approval of the Madrid 
and Washington governments, was signed in duplicate by the commissioners, 
each side retaining a copy. This event was accepted throughout the world aa 
marking the end of the Spanish-American War. 

The conditions of the surrender involved the following points: 

" (1) The 20,000 refugees at El Caney and Siboney tp be sent back to the 
city. (2) An American infantry patrol to be posted on the roads surrounding 
the city and in the country between it and the American cavalry. (3) Our 
hospital corps to give attention, as far as possible, to the sick and wouuded 
Spanish soldiers in Santiago. (4) All the Spanish troops in the province, 
except ten thousand men at Holguin, under command of General Luque, to 
come into the city and surrender. (5) The guns and defenses of the city to be 
turned over to the Americans in good condition. (6) The Americans to have 
full use of the Juragua Railroad, which belongs to the Spanish government. 
(7) The Spaniards to surrender their arms. (8) All the Spaniards to be con- 
veyed to Spain on board of American transports with the least possible delay, 
and be permitted to take portable church property with them." 

TAKING PO.S.SESSION OF SANTIAGO AND RAISING THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

The formality of taking possession of the city yet remained .to be done. 
• To that end, immediately after the signing of the agreement by the commis- 
sioners, General Shafter notified General Toral that he would formally receive 
his surrender of the city the next day, Sunday, July 17th, at nine o'clock in the 
morning. Accordingly at about 8.30 A. M., Sunday, General Shafter, accom- 
panied by the commander of the American army. General Nelson A. Miles, 
Generals AVheeler and Lawton, and several officers, walked slowly down the 
hill to the road leading to Santiago. Under the great mango tree which had 
witnessed all t'he negotiations. General Toral, in full uniform, accompanied by 
200 Spanish officers, met the Americans. After a little ceremony in military 
manoeuvring, the two commanding generals faced each other, and General Toral, 
•peaking in Spanish, said : 



262 GENERAL SHAFTER'S ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE VICTOR V. 



"Through fate I am forced to surrender to General Sluifter, of tlie American 
army, the city and the strongholds of the city of Santiago." 

General Toral's voice trembled with emotion as he spoke the words giving 
up the town to his victorious enemy. As he finished speaking the Spanish 
oflScers presented arms. 

General Shafter, in reply, said : 

"I receive the city in the name of the government of the United States." 

Tlie officers of the Spanish general then wheeled about presenting arms, 
and General Shafter, with the American oflfirers, cavalry and infantry, chosen 
for the occasion, passed into the city 
and on to the governor's palace, 
■where a crowd, numbering 3,000 
persons, had gathered. As the great 
bell in the tower of the cathedral 
nearby gave the first stroke of twelve 
o'clock tne American flag was run u|) 
from the flag-pole on the palace, and 
as it floated to the breeze all hats' 
were removed by the spectators, 
while the soldiers presented arms. 
As the cathedral bell tolled the last 
stroke of' the hour the military band 
began to play "The Star-Spangled 
Banner," which was followed by 
"Three Cheers for the Ked, White, 
and Blue." The cheering of the 
soldiers were joined by more than 
half of the people, who seemed 
greatly pleased and yelled "Viva 
los Americanos." The soldiers along 
almost the whole of the American line could see and had watched with alter- 
, nating silence and cheers the entire proceeding. 




GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELEB. 



GENERAL SHAFTEK S ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE VICTOKY. 

Havnig assisrned soldiers to patrol and preserve order within the city, 
General Shafter and his staff returned to their quarters at camp, and the victor- 
ious commander, who two weeks before was almost disheartened, sent a dispatch 
announcing the formal surrender of Santiago. It was the first dispatch of the 
kind received at Washington from a foreign country for more than fifty years. 
The following extract from General Shafter's telegram sums up the situation : 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 263 

"I have the honor to announce that the American flag has been this 
instant, 12 noon, hoisted over the house of the civil government in the city of 
Santiago. An immense concourse of j^eople was present, a squadron of cavalry 
and a regiment of infantry presenting arms, and a band playing national airs. 
A light battery fired a salute of twenty-one guns. 

"Perfect order is being maintained by the municipal government. The 
distress is very great, but there is little sickness in town, and scarcely any 
yellow fever. 

"A small gunboat and about 200 seamen left by Cervera have surrendered 
to me. Obstructions are being removed from the mouth of the harbor. 

"Upon coming into the city I discovered a perfect entanglement of 
defenses. Fighting as the Spaniards did the first day, it would have cost five 
thousand lives to have taken it. 

" Battalions of Spanish troops have been depositing arms since daylight in 
the armory, over which I have a guard. General Toral formally surrendered 
the plaza and all stores at 9 a. m. About 7,000 rifles, 600,000 cartridges, and 
many fine modern guns were given up. 

"This important victory, with its substantial fruits of conquest, was won 
by a loss of 1,593 men killed, wounded, and missing. Lawton, who had the 
severe fighting around El Caney, lost 410 men. Kent lost 859 men in the still 
more severe assault on San Juan and the other conflicts of the centre. The 
cavalry lost 285 men, many of whom fell at El Caney, and the feint at Agua- 
dores cost thirty-seven men. One man of the Signal Corps was killed and one 
wounded. Trying as it is to bear the casualties of the first fight, there can be 
no doubt that in a military sense our success was not dearly won." 

Thus within less than thirty days from the time Shafter's army landed 
upon Cuban soil he had received the surrender not only of the citv of Santiago, 
but nearly the whole of the province of that name — or about one-tenth of the 
entire island. 

THE WAR IN PORTO RICO. 

It was General Miles' original plan after establishing a blockade of Cuban 
ports to' open the war in Porto Rico, and make no general invasion of Cuba 
during the sickly season, but the enclosure of Cervera's fleet in the harbor of 
Santiago changed the conditions and made it necessary to move a military force 
to that point before going elsewhere. 

Now that Santiago had surrendered, according to the original plan of 
General Miles, the attention of the army and navy was again turned to Porto 
Rico, and the work of fitting out expeditions to that island was begun at once. 
There were three expeditions sent. The first under General Miles sailed from 



264 THE WAR IX I'OR'KJ RICO. 

Guantiinaino Bay, Cuba, July 21st; the second under General Ernst on the same 
day sailed from Charleston, S. C. ; the third under General Brooke embarked at 
Newport News on July 2Gth. All of these expeditions, aggrefgating about 
11,000 men, were convoyed by war-ships, and successfully landed. The first, 
under General Miles, reached Guanica at daylight on July 25th, where a 
Spanisli force attemjited to resist their landing, but a few well-directed shells 
from the 3Iassachusetts, Gloucester, and Columbia soon ]>\\{ the enemy to flight. 
A party then went ashore and pulled down the Spanish flag from the block- 
house — the first trophy of war from Porto Rican soil. As the troops began to 
land the Si)aniards opened lire upon them. The Americans replied with their 
rifles and machine guns, and the ships also shelled the enemy from the harbor. 
Five dead Spaniards were found after the tiring had ceased. Not an American 
was touched. 

Before nightfall all the troops were landetl. The next day General Miles 
marched toward Ponce. Four men were wounded in a skirmish at Yauco on 
the way, but at Ponce, where General Ernst's expedition from Charleston met 
them and disembarked ou July 28th, the Spaniards fled on the approach of the 
Americans, whom the mayor of the city and the jieople welcomed with joy, 
making many demonstrations in their honor and oft'ering their services to hunt 
and fight the Spaniards. General Miles issued a proclamation to the people 
declaring clearly the United States' purpose of annexing them. The mayor of 
Ponce published this proclamation, with an appeal from himself to the ]>eople 
to salute and hail the American flag as their own, and to welcome and aid the 
American soldiers as their deliverei-s and brothers. 

On August 4th General Brooke arrived, and the fleet commander, Captain 
Higginson, with little resistance oi')ened the port of Arroyo, where they were 
successfully landed the next day, and General Haines' brigade captured the 
place with a few prisonei-s. 

The Americans were then in possession of all the principal ports on the 
south coast, covering between fifty and sixty miles of that shore. A forward 
movement was inaugurated in three divisions — all of which we will consider 
together — the object of General Miles being to occupy the island and drive tlie 
Spanish forces before him into San Juan, and by the aid of the fleet capture 
them there in a body, though the Spanish forces numbered 8,000 regulai-s and 
0,000 volunteers, against which were the 11,000 land forces of tlie Americans 
and also their fleet. 

The town of Coamo was captured August 9th after half an hour of fighting 
by Generals Ernst and Wilson, the Americans driving the Spaniards from 
their trenche.s, and sustaining a loss of six wounded. On the 10th General 
Schwan encountered 1,000 Spaniards at Rosario River. This was the most 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 265 

severe engagement in Porto Rico. The Sj^aniards were routed, with what loas 
is unknown. The Americans had two killed and sixteen wounded. 

On the 11th General Wilson moved on to Abonito and found the enemy 
strongly intrenched in the mountain fastnesses along the road. He ventured 
an attack with artillery, sustaining a loss of one man killed and four wounded. 
On pain of another attack he sent a messenger demanding the surrender of the 
town of Abonito ; but the soldierly answer was sent back : " Tell General 
Wilson to stay where he is if he wishes to avoid the shedding of much blood." 
General Wilson concluded to delay until General Brooke couhl come up before 
making the assault, and, while thus waiting, the news of peace arrived. 

Meantime General Brooke had been operating around Guayama, where he 
had five men wounded. At three o'clock, August 12th, the battle was just 
opening in good order, and a great fight was anticipated. The gunners were 
sighting their first pieces when one of the signal corps galloped up with the 
telegram announcing peace. " You came just fifteen minutes too soon. The 
troops will be disappointed," said Genei-al Brooke, and they were. 

So ended the well-planned campaign of Porto Rico, in which General Miles 
had arranged, by a masterly operation with 11,(X)() men, the occupation of an 
island 108 miles long by thirty-seven broad. As it was, he had already occu- 
pied about one-third of the island with a loss of only three killed and twenty- 
eight wounded, against a preponderating force of 17,000 Spaniards. 

After the signing of the protocol of peace General Brooke was left in 
charge of about half the forces in Porto Rico, pending a final peace, while 
General Miles with the other half returned to the United States, where he 
arrived early in September and was received with fitting ovations in New York, 
Philadelphia, and Washington, at which latter city he again took up his quarters 
■,\& the Commander of the American Army. 

THE CONQUEST OF THE PHILIPPINES. 

After Dewey's victory at Manila, already referred to, it became evident that 
he must have the co-operation of an army in capturing and controlling the city. 
The insurgents under Genei'al Aguinaldo appeared anxious to assist Admiral 
Dewey, but it was feared that he could not control them. Accordingly, the big 
monitor Monterey was started for Manila and orders were given for the imme- 
diate outfitting of expeditions from San Francisco under command of Major- 
General Wesley Merritt. The first expedition consisted of between 2,500 and 
3,000 troops, connnanded by Brigadier-General Anderson, carried on three ships, 
the Charleston, the City of Pekin, and the City of Sydney. This was the longest 
expedition (about 6,000 miles) on which American troops were ever sent, and 
the men carried supplies to last a year. The Charleston got away on the 22d, 



266 



THE CONQUEST OF THE PHILIPPINES. 



and the other two vessels followed three days later. The expedition went 
through safely, arriving at Manila July 1st. Tiie Charledon had stopped on 
June 21st at the Ladrone Islands and captured the island of Guam without 
resistance. The soldiers of the garrison were taken on as prisoners to Manila 
and a garrison of American soldiers left in charge, with the stars and stripes 
waving over the fortifications. 

The second expedition of 3,500 men sailed June 15th under General Greene, 
who used the steamer China as his flagshij). This expedition landed July 16th 
at Cavite in the midst of considerable excitement on account of the aggressive 
movements of the insurgents and the 
daily encounters and skirmishes be- 
tween them and the Siianish forces. 

On June 23d the monitor Mo- 
nadnoc sailed to further reinforce 
Admiral Dewey, and four days later 
the third expedition of 4,000 troops 
under General McArthur passed out 
of the Golden Gate amid the cheers 
of the multitude, as the others had 
done ; and on the 29th General Mer- 
ritt followed on the Neivport. Nearly 
one month later, July 23d, General 
H. G. Otis, with 900 men, sailed on 
the City of Rio de Janeiro from San 
Francisco, thus making a total of 
nearly 12,000 men, all told, sent to 
the Philippine Islands. 

General Merritt arrived at Ca- 
vite July 25th, and on July 29th the 
American forces advanced from Ca- 
vite toward Manila. On the 31st, 
while enroute, they were attacked at Malate by 3,000 Spaniards, whom they 
repulsed, but sustained a loss of nine men killed and forty-seven wounded, nine 
of them seriously. This was the first loss of life on the part of the Americans 
in action in the Philippines. The Spanisli casualties were much heavier. On 
the same day General McArthur's reinforcements arrived at Cavite, and several 
days were devoted to preparations for a combined land and nav.al attack. 

On August 7th Admiral Dewey and General Merritt demanded the sur- 
render of the city within forty-eight hours, and foreign war-ships took their 
respective subjects on board for protection. On August 9th the Spaniards 




MAJOR-GENERAL WESLEY MERRITT. 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 267 

asked more time to hear from INIadrid, but tliis was refused, and on the loth a 
final tleniand was made for immediate surrender, wliieh Governor-General 
Augusti refused and embarked with his family on board a German man-of-war, 
which sailed with him for Hong Kong. At 9.30 o'clock the bombardment be- 
gan with fury, all of the vessels sending hot shot at the doomed city. 

In the midst of the bombardment by the fleet American soldiers under 
Generals McArthur and Greene were ordered to storm the Spanish trenches 
which extended ten miles around the city. The soldiers rose cheering and 
dashed for the Spanish earthworks. A tleadly fire met them, but the men 
rushed on and swept the enemy from their outer defenses, forcing them to their 
inner trenches. A second charge was made upon these, and the Sjianiards 
retreated into the walled city, where they promptly sent up a white flag. The 
ships at once ceased firing, and the victorious Americans entered the city after 
six hours' fiohtins;. General Merritt took command as militarv o;overnor. The 
Spanish forces numbered 7,000 and the Americans 10,000 men. The loss to 
the Americans was about fifty killed, wounded, and missing, wdiich was very 
small under the circumstances. 

In the meantime the insurgents had formed a government with Aguinaldo 
as jjresident. They declared themselves most friendly to American occupation 
of tlie islands, with a view to aiding them to establish an independent govern- 
ment, which they hoped would be granted to them. On September 15th they 
opened their republican congress at Malolos, and President Aguinaldo made the 
opening address, expressing warm appreciation of Americans and indulging the 
hope that they meant to establish the independence of the islands. On Sep- 
tember 16th, however, in obedience to the command of General Otis, they with- 
drew their forces from the vicinity of Manila. 

PEACE NEGOTIATIONS AND THE PROTOCOL. 

Precisely how to open the negotiations for peace was a delicate and difiicult 
question. Its solution, however, proved easy enough when the attempt was 
made. During the latter part of July the Spanish government, through M. 
Jules Cambon, the French am])assador at Washington, submitted a note, asking 
the United States government for a statement of the ground on which it would 
be willing to cease hostilities and arrange for a peaceable settlement. Accord- 
ingly, on July 30th, a statement, embodying President McKinley's views, was 
transmitted to Spain, and on August 2d Spain virtually accepted the terms by 
cable. On August 9th Spain's formal reply was presented by M. Cambon, and 
on the next day he and Secretary Day agreed upon terms of a protocol, to be 
sent to Spain for her approval. Two days later, the 12th inst., the French 
ambassador was authorized to sign the protocol for Spain, and the signatures 



268 PEACE NEGOTIATIONS AND THE PROTOCOL. 

were affixed the same afternoon at the White House (M. Cambou signing for 
Spain and Secretary Day for the United States), in the presence of President 
McKinley and the cliief assistants of tlie Department of State. The six main 
points covered, by the protocol were as follows : 

!' 1. That Spain will relinquish all claim of sovereignty over and title to 
Cuba. 

" 2. Tliat Porto Rico and other Spanish islands in the West Indies, and 
an island in the Ladrones, to be selected by the United States, shall be ceded to 
the latter. 

" 3. That the United States will occupy and hold the city, bay, and harbor 
of Manila, pending the conclusion of a treaty of peace which shall determine the' 
control, disix)sition, and government of the Philippines. 

" 4. That Cuba, Porto Rico, and other Spanish islands in the West Indies 
shall be immediately evacuated, and that commissioners, to be appointed within 
ten days, shall, within thirty days from the signing of the protocol, meet at 
Havana and Sau Juan, respectively, to arrange and execute the details of the 
evacuation. 

"5. That the United States and Spain will each appoint not more than five 
commissioners to negotiate and conclude a treaty of peace. The commissioners 
are to meet at Paris not later than October 1st. 

" 6. On the signing of the protocol, hostilities will be suspended and notice 
to that effect be given as soon as possible by each government to the com- 
manders of its military and naval forces." 

On the very same afternoon President McKinley issued a proclamation 
announcing on the part of the United States a .suspension of hostilities, and over 
the wires the word went ringing throughout the length and breadth of the land 
and under the ocean that peace was restored. The cable from Hong Kong to 
Manila, however, had not been repaired for use since Dewey had cut it in JMay; 
consequently it wa.s several days before tidings could reach General Merritt and 
Admiral Dewey ; and meantime the battle of Manila, which occurred on the 
loth, was fought. 

On August 17th President IMcKinley named commissioners to adjust the 
Spanish evacuation of Cuba and Porto Rico, in accordance with the terms of 
the protocol. Rear-Admiral Wm. T. Sampson, Senator Matthew C. Butler, and 
Major-General James F. Wade were appointed for Culia, and Rear-Admiral 
W. S. Schley, Brigadier-General Wm. W. Gordon, and Major-General John R. 
Brooke for Porto Rico. In due time Spain announced her commissioners, and, 
as agreed, they met in September and the arrangements for evacuation were 
speedily completed and carried out. 

President McKinley appointed as the National Peace Commission, Secre- 



THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR. 269 

tarv of State Wm. R. Dav, Senator Cushnian K. Davis of Minnesota, Senator 
Wm. P. Frye of Maine, Senator George Gray of Delaware, and Mr. WliiLelaw 
Reid of New York. Secretary Day resigned his State portfolio Se2)teraber 16th, 
in which he was succeeded by Colonel Jolin Hay, former Ambassador to Eng- 
hmd. With ex-Secretary Day at their head tlie Americans sailed from New 
York, Septemljer 17th, met the Spanish Commissioners at Pai-is, France, as 
agi-eed, and arranged the details of the final peace between the two nations. 
Thus ended the Spanish-American War. 

HOME-COMING OF OUR SOLDIERS. 

After Spain's virtual acceptance of the terms of peace contained in Presi- 
dent McKinley's note of July 30th, it was deemed unnecessary to keep all the 
forces unoccupied in the fever districts of Cuba and the unsanitary camps of 
our own country ; consequently the next day after receipts of Spain's mes.sage 
of August 2d, on August 3d, the home-coming was inaugurated by ordering all 
cavalry under General Shaffer at Santiago to be transported to Montauk Point, 
Long Island, and on the 6th instant transports sailed bearing those who were to 
come north. These were followed rapidly by others from Santiago, and later 
by about lialf the forces from Porto Rico under General Miles, and others from 
tiie various camps, so that by the end of September, 1808, nearly half of the 
great army of 268,000 men had been mustered out of service or sent home 
on furlough. 

It is a matter of universal resrret that so many of our brave volunteers 
dieil of neglect in camps and on transports, and that fever, malaria, and 
exposure carried several times the number to their graves as were sent there by 
Spanish bullets. Severe criticisms have been lodged against the War Depart- 
ment for both lack of efficiency and neglect in caring for the comfort, health, 
and life of those who went forward at their country's call. 

However, it must be remembered that tlie War Department undertook and 
accomplished a herculean task, and it could not be expected, starting with a 
regular force of less than 30,000 men, that an army of a quarter of a million 
could be built up out of volunteers who had to be collected, trained, clothed, 
equipped, and provisioned, and a war waged and won on two sides of the globe, 
in a little over three months, without much suifering and many mistakes. 

THE TREATY OF PEACE. 

December 10, 1898, was one of the most eventful days in the past decade 
■ — one fraught with great interest to the world, and involving the destiny of more 
than 10,000,000 of people. At nine o'clock on the evening of that day the 
•commissioners of the United States and those of S{)ain met for the last time, 



270 THE TREATY OF PEACE. 

after about eleven weeks of deliberation, in the magnificent apartments of the 
foreign ministry at the French capital, and signed the Treaty of Peace, -which 
finally marked the end of the Spanish-American War. 

This treaty transformed the political geography of the world by establish- 
ing the United States' authority in both hemispheres, and also in the tropics, 
where it had never before extended. It, furthermore, brought under our 
dominion and obligated us for the government of strange and widely isolated 
peoples, who have little or no knowledge of liberty and government as measured 
by the American standards. In this new assumption of responsibility America 
essayed a difficult problem, the solving of which involved results that could not 
fail to influence the destiny of our nation and the future history of the whole 
world. 

On January 3, 1899, the Hon. John Hay, Secretary of State, delivered the 
Treaty of Peace to President jNIcKinley, who, on Januaiy 4th, forwarded the 
same to the Senate of the United States with a view to its ratification. 

The Queen Regent of Spain signed the ratification of the Treaty of Peace 
on March 17, 1899, and the final act took place on the afternoon of April 11th, 
when copies of the final protocol were exchanged at Washington by President 
McKinley and the French ambassador, M. Cambon, rejjresenting Spain. The 
President immediately issued a proclamation of peace, and thus the Spanish- 
American War came to an official end. A few weeks later the sum of 
$20,000,000 was paid to Spain, in accordance with the treaty, as partial com- 
pensation for the surrender of her rights in the Philippines, and dii^lomatic 
relations between the Latin kingdom and the United States were resumed. 

The territory which passes under the control of our government by the 
above treaty of peace has a combined area of about 168,000 square miles, equal 
to nine good States. It all lies within the tropics, where hitherto not an acre of 
our country has extended ; and, for that reason, its acquisition is of tlie greatest 
commercial significance. These islands produce all tropical fruits, plants, 
spices, timbers, etc. Their combined population is upwards of 10,000,000 
people, and among this vast number there are few manufactories of any kind. 
They are consumers or prosjjective consumers of all manufactured goods; they 
require the products of the temperate zone, and in return everything they 
produce is marketable in our country. 

The Spanish forces withdrew from Cuba, December 31, 1898, and, on the 
following day, the Stars and Stripes was hoisted over Havana. The change 
of sovereignties in Porto Rico took place without trouble, but there has been 
some disturbance in Cuba, and it is evident that considerable time must ela2-)se 
before peace will be fully restored and a stable government established in the 
island. 



THE SPANISH- AMERICAN WAR. 



271 



Though the war with Spain was closed, serious trouble broke out in the 
Philippines. Aguinaldo, who had headed most of the rebellions against Spain 
durino- the later years, refused to acknowledge the authority of the United 
States, and, rallying thousands of Filipinos around him, set on foot what he 
claimed was a war of independence. Our government sent a strong force of 

regulars and volunteers thither, all 
of whom acquitted themselves with 
splendid heroism and bravery, and de- 
feated the rebels repeatedly, capturing 
strongholds one after the other, and, 
in fact, driving everything resistlessly 
before them. The fighting was of 
the sharpest kind, and our troops 
had many killed and wounded, though 
tiiat of the enemy was tenfold greater. 
All such struggles, however, when 
American valor and skill are arrayed 
on one side, can have but one result; 
and, animated by our sense of duty, 
which demanded that a firm, equitable, 
and just government should be es- 
tablished in the Philippines, this be- 
neficent purpose was certain to be at- 
tained in the end. 

On March 3, 1899, President 
McKinley nominated Rear-Admiral 
George Dewey to the rank of full ad- 
miral, his conuiiission to date from Marcli 2d, and the Senate immediately and 
unanimously confirmed the nomination, which had been so richly earned. This 
hero, as modest as he is great, remained in the Philippines to complete his 
herculean task, instead of seizing the first opportunity to return home and receive 
the overwhelming honors which his countrymen were eagerly waiting to show 
him. Finally, when his vast work was virtually completed and his health 
showed evidence of the terrific and long-continued strain to which it had been 
subjected, he proceeded home by a leisurely course, where he was received with 
great distinction by his grateful and admiring fellow-countrymen. 




MAJOR-GENERAL ELVFELL S. OTIS. 



CHAPTER XIV 
ADMINISTRATION OK VS^ILLIAM IVLCKINLKY. 

' THE CLOSINO EVENTS OK THE NINETEENTH 

CENTURY, 

Affairs in Cuba and I^orto Rico — Dewey's Pruiiiotiuii and Ucturii — The Philippine Situation — Aguinaldo's 
Insurrection — The War in Luzon — Tlie Phihppine Cuniuiission — Amnesty Proclaimed — Presi- 
dential Nominations in J 900 — Party Platforms — Affairs in China — The Boxer Outbreak^rhe 
Foreigners in Peking — The New Census. 

THE UNITED STATES BECOMES A WORLD POWER. 

On tlie last clay of 1898 the Spanish troops were withdrawn from Havana, 
and on the first day of 1899 tlie stars and stripes proudly floated over that 
queen city of the American tropics. But this was only for a time. The United 
States was pledged to give freedom to Cuba, and no man in authority thouglit 
of breaking this pledge, for the honor of tlie country was involved. 

In the summer of 1900 the Cuban people were asked to hold a convention 
and form a Constitution, with the single proviso tliat it should contain no clauses 
favoring European aggression or inimical to American interests. This done, 
American troops and officials would be withdrawn and Cuba be given over to 
the Cubans. 

The occupation of Porto Rico, on the contrary, was permanent. It had 
been fully ceded to the United States, and steps were taken to make it a constitu- 
ent part of that country. But the period of transition from Spanish to 
American I'ule was not favorable to the interests of the people, who suffered 
severely, their business being wrecked by tariff discrimination. Action by 
Congress was demanded, and a bill was passed greatly reducing the tai'iff in 
Porto Rico, but not giving free trade with the United States, though many held 
that this was the Constitutional right of the islanders. Under this new tariff 
business was resumed, and the lost prosperity of the island was gradually 
restored. 

The occupation of our new possessions in the Pacific presented serious diffi- 
culties. This was not the case with Hawaii, which fell peacefully under its 
new rule, and in 1900 was made a Territory of the United States. With the 
Philippine Islands the case was different. There hostility to American rule 
18 27.3 



274 



THE UNITED STATES BECOMES A WORLD POWER, 



soon showed itself, and eventually an insurrection began, leading to a war, 
which proved far more protracted and sanguinary than that with Spain. 



DEWEY RETURNS HOME. 

Shortly after these troubles began Admiral Dewey received a well-merited 
reward. On the 3d of March, 1899, he was promoted by President McKinley 
and the Senate from the rank of rear-admiral to that of full admiral, a grade 
of high honor which only two Americans, Farragut and Portei-, had borne 
before him. Worn out with his labors, this distinguished officer soon after set 
out for home. His journey was a 
leisurely one, and he was the recip- 
ient of the highest honors at every 
stopping-jjlace on his route. On 
reaching his own country he found 
himself a great popular hero, and was 
everywhere greeted with enthusiastic 
applause. His reception at New York 
was one of the striking events of the 
century, and as a lasting testimonial 
of appreciation and esteem his grate- 
ful countrymen purchased him a beau- 
tiful resilience in Washington. Here, 
taking to himself a wife, the Admiral 
settled down to peace and domestic 
comfort after his stormy career. 

THE PHILIPPINE INSURRECTION. 

Dewey left the Philippines in a 
state of convulsion. On the 30th of 
December, 1898, President McKinley 
had issued a jJi'oclamation offering 
the natives, under American suprem- 
acy, a considerable measure of home rule, including a voice in local government, 
the right to hold office, a fair judiciary, and freedom of speech and of the press. 
These concessions were not satisfactory to Emilio Aguinaldo, the leader in the 
late insurrection against Spain, who demanded independence for the islands. 
He claimed that Dewey had jjromised it to him in return for his aid in the 
capture of Manila — a claim which Dewey positively denied. 

General Elwell S. Otis, who had succeeded General Merritt as military 




WM. JENNINGS BRYAN. 
Demociiitiu candidate for President, 1896 and J900. 



ADMINISTRATION OF McKINLEY. 275 

governor of the islands, fouiul himself plunged into the midst of an active war. 
The difficulty with which General Otis had to contend was one in which the 
navy was not specially concerned, it being almost wholly a military affair. It 
had its origin in a variety of causes, beginning with the irritation of the Fil- 
ipino forces in not being permitted to enter Manila after its capture — presuma- 
bly with the purpose of loot and outrage. This irritation was added to by 
growing relations of hostility between the American and the Philippine forces. 
Little was done to adjust this trouble, and the hostile attitude of the Fili- 
pinos steadily increased. Not until after lighting had actually begun was an 
effort at an amicable settlement made, and in this Dewey took part. 

Before his return he had served on a commission, organized with the hope 
of reaching a peaceful end of the difficulties. The other mendjers of the 
commission were General Otis, Jacob G. Shurman, President of Cornell Univer- 
sity, Professor Dean Worcester, and Charles Denby, late Minister to China. 
The commission began its work on April 4, 1899, by issuing a proclamation to 
the Philippine people, offering them, under the supremacy of the United States, 
an abundant measure of civil rights, honest administration, reform of abuses, 
and development of the resources of the country. This proclamation fell still- 
born, so far as the insurgent forces were concerned, Aguinaldo issuing counter 
proclamations and calling on the people to fight for complete independence. It 
was evident that the settlement of the affair would dejiend on the rifle and the 
sword rather than on paper proclamations and promises. 

THE INSUKRECTION IN LUZON. 

On the oOth of December, 1898, President McKinley liad issued a proc- 
lamation to the Philippine people, in which he offered them a large measure of 
local self-government, the right to hold office, a fair judiciary and freedom of 
speech and of the press. These concessions were not satisfactory to their leaders, 
and in January, 1899, a conference was held with General Otis in which the 
Philippinfe spokesman demanded a greater degree of self-government than he 
had authority to grant. As the debate in the Senate upon the treaty of 
peace with Sixain approached its termination, and promised to end in the ratifi-, 
cation of the treaty and the cession of the islands to the United States, the rest- 
lessness and hostility of the natives increased, and on the night of February 
4th the threatened outbreak came, in a fierce attack on the American outposts 
at Manila. A severe battle ensued, continuing for two days, and ending in 
the defeat of the natives, who had suffered severely and were driven back for 
miles beyond the city limits. 

Meanwhile a republic had been proclaimed by the Philippine leaders, 



27G THE UNITED STATES BECOMES A WORLD POWER. 

Aguinaldo being chosen president and commander-in-chief of the native armies. 
He immediately issued a declaration of war, and both sides prepared for active 
hostilities. The first step taken by the Filipinos was a desperate one — an 
attempt at wholesale arson. On the night of February 22d the city of Manila 
was set on fire at several points, and the soldiers and firemen who sought to 
extinguish the flames were fired upon from many of the houses. The result was 
not serious except to the natives themselves, since the conflagration was in great 
' part confined to their quarter of the city. General Otis took vigilant precau- 
tions to prevent the recurrence of such an attempt, and from that time forward 
Mviuila, though full of secret hostiles, was safe from the peril of incendiarism. 

THE CAMPAIGN OF 1899. 

The American forces, being strengthened with reinforcements, began their 
advance on March 25th. They met with sharp resistance, the Filipinos having 
thrown up earthworks at 'every defensible point, and being well armed with 
Mauser rifles. But they nowhere seemed able to sustain the vigorous onsets of 
the Americans, who did not hesitate to charge their works and swim wide rivers 
in face of their fire, and they were driven back from a long succession of forti- 
fied places. On March 31st Malolos, the capital of Aguinaldo, was occupied. 
Calumpit, another Philippine stronghold, was taken near the end of April. 
General Lawton, an old Indian fighter, who had recently reached the islands, 
led an expedition northward through the foothills and captured San Isidro, the 
second insurgent capital. Various other jilaces were taken, and at the beginning 
of July, when the coming on of the rainy season put an end to active operations, 
a large and populous district to the north and west of Manila was in American 
hands. 

By this time it had become evident that a larger army was needed to com- 
jslete the task, and reinforcements were now hurried across the ocean. With them 
was sent a considerable body of cavalry, the lack of which had seriously handi- 
capped the troops in the spring campaign. Fighting was resumed in mid- 
autumn, and Aguinaldo's new capital of Tarlac quickly fell. The insurgents 
seemed to have lost heart from their reverses in the spring, and defended them= 
selves with less courage and persistence, the result being that by the 1st of 
December the Americans were masters of the whole line of the Manila- 
Dagupan Railway and the broad plain through which it ran, and the Filipinos 
were in full flight for the mountains, hotly pursued by Lawton and Young, 
with their cavalry and scouts. 

From that time forward there was no Filipino army, properly so-called^ 
Aguinaldo's forces being broken up into fugitive bands, capable only of guerilla 



ADMINISTRATION OF McKINLEY. '-" 

warfare. The American troops traversed the island from end to end, having 
frequent collisions with small parties of the enemy, in one of which, unfortu- 
nately, the gallant Lawton was shot dead. Many of the insurgent leaders were 
captured or surrendered, but Aguinaldo continued at large, and the hope of a 
final end of the war came to depend largely upon the event of his capture. 

In November the Philijipine Commission made its report to the government, 
and a system which was thought to be well adajited to the situation was formu- 
lated at Washington. This declared that the people of the Philippines, while 
many of them were intelligent and capable, had no experience in self-govern- 
ment, and that it was necessary for the United States to retain a firm political 
control, while giving them such share in the government as they were fitted to 
exercise, increasing this as they gained political training. In accordance with 
this policy, local governments were established in those localities which had 
become pacified, and with very promising eflect. By the summer of 1900 the 
resistance to American domination had so much decreased that President 
McKinley issued a proclamation of amnesty, with the hope that the natives still 
in arms would take advantage of the op2:)ortunity to cease their desultory 
resistance. 

THE SITUATION IN CHINA. 

While this was going on in the Philippines a disturbed condition of affairs 
suddenly developed in a new quarter, the ancient and populous emjiire of China. 
It is necessary to go a step backwards to trace the course of events leading to this 
unlooked-for situation. The whole intercourse of Eurojiean nations with China 
had been of a character to create indignation and hati'ed of foreigners in the 
populace of that country. The Japano-Chinese war increased this feeling, while 
demonstrating the incapacity of the Chinese to cope in war with modern nations. 
In the years that followed, the best statesmen of China vividly realized the 
defects of their system, and recognized that a radical reform was necessary to 
save the nation from a total collapse. The nations of Europe were seizing the 
best ports of the empire and threatening to divide the whole country between 
them, a peril which it needed vigorous measures to avert. 

The result was an effort to modernize the administration. Railroads had 
long been practically forbidden, but now concessions for the.building of hundreds 
of miles of road were granted. Modern implements of war were purchased in 
great quantities, and the European drill and discipline were introduced into the 
imperial army. The young emjaeror became strongly imbued with the spirit of 
reform, and ordered radical changes in the administration of affairs. In short, 
a promising beginning was made in the modernization of the ancient empire. 



278 THE UNITED STATES BECOMES A WORLD POWER. 

A movement of this kind in a country so rigidly conservative as China 
could scarcely fail to produce a revulsion. The party of ancient prejudice and 
conservative sentiment — a party comprising the bulk of the nation — took the 
alanu. The empress-dowager, who had recently laid down the reins of govern- 
ment as regent, took them ujj again, under the support of the conservative 
leaders, seized and held in palace seclusion the emperor, juit to death his 
advisers, and restored the old methods of administration. 

THE BOXER OUTBREAK. 

This revolution in the palace soon made itself felt in the hovel. A secret 
society of the common jieople, known as " The Boxers," rose in arms, made a 
murderous onslaught upon the missionaries, who were widely domiciled within 
the realm, and soon appeared in the capital. Here, aided by many of the soldiers, 
and led by men high in rank in the anti-foreign party, they made a virulent 
assault upon the legation buildings, and \mi the ministers of the nations in 
imminent j^eril of their lives. These exalted officials were cut off from all 
communication with their governments, stories of their massacre alone filtering 
through, and the powers, roused to desperation by the danger of their envoys, 
sent ships and troops in all haste to the nearest point to Pekin. la this move- 
ment the United States actively joined, its minister, Edwin H. Conger, and the 
members of the embassy sharing the common peril. 

AVhat followed must be briefly told. A small force, made up of soldiers 
and marines of various nations, under Admiral Seymour, of the British navy, 
set out on June 11th for Pekin. This movement failed. The railroad was 
found to be torn up, a strong force of Chinese blocked the way, and Seymour 
and his men were forced to turn back and barely escaped with their lives. 

At the same time a naval attack was made on the forts at Taku ; Admiral 
Remey, of the United States navy, refusing to take jiart in this ill-advised 
action. Its immediate result was an assault in force by Boxers and trooj^s on 
the foreign quarter of the city of Tien Tsin, in which the Chinese fought with 
an unexpected skill and persistence. They were repulsed, but only after the 
hardest fight which foreigners had ever, experienced on Chinese soil. 

THE RESCUE OF THE MINISTERS. 

As the month of July went on the mystery at Pekin deepened. It became 
known that the German minister had been murdered, and doubtful reports of 
the slaughter of all the foreigners in the capital were cabled. As it seemed 
impossible to obtain authentic news, the greatest possible haste was made to 
collect an army strong enough to march to Pekin, and early in August this 



ADMINISTRATION OF MeKINLEY. 279 

force, consisting of some 16,000 Jajianese, Russians, Americans and Britisli, 
set out. A severe straggle was looked foi-, and their ability to reach Pekin 
seemed very doubtful. At Peitsang, some twelve miles on the route, the Chinese 
made a desperate resistance, which augured ill for the entei-prise ; but their 
defeat there seemed to rob them of spirit, and the gates of Pekin were reached 
with little more fighting. On the 14th the gates were assailed, the feeble opposi- 
tion from within was overcome, and the troops marched in triumph to the British 
legation, the stout walls of which had offered a haven of refuge to the 
imperilled legationers. 

Glad, indeed, were the souls of the beleaguered men and women within, so 
long in peril of death from torture or starvation, to see the stars and stripes 
and the union jack waving over the coming troops. Only then was the 
mystery surrounding their fate made clear and the safety of all the ministers, 
except the rej^resentative of Germany, assured. So far as the United States 
was concerned, the work was at an end. That country wanted no share in the 
partition of China. All it demanded was an " open door " to commerce, an 
equal share in the important Chinese trade. No sooner was its minister rescued 
than it was announced that the Ainerican troops would be withdrawn as soon as 
proper relations with the Chinese government had been consummated, and that 
in no case would the United States support any land-seizing projects of the 
nations of Europe. 

THE POLITICAL CAMPAIGN OF lUOO. 

In the summer of 1900 the national conventions of the j^olitical i^arties 
were held to nominate candidates and formulate platforms for the presidential 
campaign of that year. The candidates for President proved to be the same as 
in 1896, AVilliam McKinley being chosen by the Republicans, William J. 
Bryan by the Democrats and Populists. For Vice-President, Adlai E. 
Stevenson, who had filled that office under Cleveland, was selected by the 
Democrat and Po]iulist j^arties ; Theodore Roosevelt, Governor of New York 
and the hero of the battle of San Juan, by the Rejiublicans. 

The platforms of the parties were significant in that the old party Avar cries 
sank into the background and new princi23les rose into prominence. The tariff, 
so long the leading issue, vanished from sight. The question of free silver 
coinage, so prominent in 1896, became a minor issue. The new points in debate 
were the trusts and the policy of so-called Imperialism. The trusts, however,, 
could not be made a leading question. Both parties condemned them in their 
platforms, though the Democrats maintained that they were supported by the 
existing administration, and that the Republican party was the sustainer of 
monopoly. This left as the leading issue the question of Imperialism versus 



280 THE UNITED STATES BECOMES A WORLD POWER. 

Anti-Imperialism, a controvei'sy based on the effort of tlie administration to 
subdue and control the people of the Philippines. The persons opposed to this 
policy had grown in numbers until Anti-Imperialism was taken up as the main 
principle of the Democratic platform. The country became divided uj^on this 
great question, and the camjaaign orators fulminated pro and con, with all their 
eloquence, upon the grand problem of the conquest or the independence of the 
Filipinos. The result of the election jjroved favorable to the Rejiublican can- 
didates, William McKiuley being re-elected President by a considerably larger 
majority than in 1896. On March 4, 1901, he was duly re-inaugurated Presi- 
dent of the United States, and Theodore Poosevelt, the new Vice-President, took 
his seat as presiding officer of the Uniled States Senate. 

THE CENSUS OF 1900. 

■ Much interest was taken throughout the United States in the results of the 
twelfth census which was taken in July, 1900, under the direction of William 
R. Merriam. Elaborate preparations were made and numerous calculating and 
registering machines Avere employed to facilitate the work. The country was 
divided into o2,G00 districts, and from these the returns showed a total popu- 
lation of over 76,000,000 against 62,600,000 by the census of 1890. For 
many years it had been predicted that the census of 1900 would show a popu- 
lation of 100,000,000. There being less public land to be distributed for homes 
has reduced immigration, and been one of the reasons that the percentage of 
increase in jiopulation has diminished. The census of 1900 shows that about 
thirty-three per cent, of the population is living in cities or towns of 8,000 
inhabitants or over. In 1890 this percentage was 29. The centre of popula- 
tion for the United States in 1880 was near Columbus, Indiana, and in 1900 
it had moved to a point seven miles southwest of this city. 

The following table shows the aggregate population of twenty cities by the 
twelfth census, in their order, in comparison with that of the eleventh : 

12th Census. 11th Censua 

1900. 1890. 

Greater New York ........ 3,437,202 2,506,591 

Chicago . . . . . . . . . . 1,698,575 1,099,850 

Philadelphia 1,293,697 1,046,964 

Brooklyn .......... 1,166,582 806^43 

St. Louis .......... 575,238 451,770 

Boston .......... 560,892 448,477 

Baltimore .......... 508,957 434,439 

Cleveland .......... 381,768 261,353 

Buffalo . . . : 352,219 255,664 

San Francisco . -. 342,782 298,997 

Cincinnati 325,902 296,908 

Pittsbur? . , 321,616 238,617 

Kew Orleans 287,104 242,039 

Detroit 285,704 205,87« 

Milwaukee .......... 285,315 204,468 

Washington 278,718 230,3':2 

Newark 246,070 181,830 

Jersey City 206,433 163,003 

Louisville . . 204,731 161,129 

Minneapolis . . • w 202,718 164,738 



AGUINALDO CAPTURED BY GENERAL FUNSTON. 281 

In March, 1901, an event of leading importance took place in tl'ie Philip- 
pine Islands in the capture of Eniile Aguinaldo, President of the Philij^jiiue 
government and coniniantler-in-chief of its forces. On February 28th, General 
Funston had captured a messenger bearing letters from the insurgent leadei", 
which revealed the fact that he was then at the town of Palanan, in northwest 
Luzon. Funston at once devised a plan and organized a force for his capture. 

The expedition consisted of seventy-eight Maeabebe scouts, dressed as in- 
surgents and laborers, and four ex-insurgent officers. The only Americans 
were Funston and four other officers, who had disguised themselves as pri\ntes. 
Funston had prepared two decoy letters, apparently signed by the insurgent 
general Lacuna, whose seal and correspondence he had captured some time 
before. These stated that Lacuna was sending his sujDerior the best company 
under his command. 

Landing from the gunboat Vicksburg, the party made a toilsome march 
over a very rugged country. They reached Palanan on March 23d. Agui- 
naldo was completely deceived by the letters, and the story told him that the 
Americans were jmrt of a surveying party which had been surprised on the 
mai'ch, part being killed and part taken. His household guards were drawn up 
to receive the visitors and their captives. Suddenly the mask was thrown off, 
firing began, and one of the ex-insurgent officers seized and held him firmly. 
His iittendants and body-guard at once took to flight, and in a few minutes the 
affair was at an end, and the Filipino leader was a captive to the Americans. 
The expedition had proved a complete success. The important prisoner was 
brought to Manila, and confined there in the Malacanan Palace. Here he soon 
regained his calmness, talked freely, and was visited by a number of prominent 
Filipinos, who sought to convince him that the struggle was hopeless, and ad- 
vised him to use his influence with the jieople to establish peace. Their ai'gu- 
ments were effective, Aguinaldo expressed his satisfaction with the form of gov- 
ernment, and on April 2d he took the oath of allegiance to the LTnited States. 

The effect of his capture proved highly flxvorable. Several pi'ominent in- 
surgent leaders at once surrendered themselves and their bands, and it seemed as 
if a new era of peace was about to dawn. Aguinaldo, who had apparently ex- 
perienced a change of opinion, did his share towards liastening it by sending 
peace emissaries to the chiefs still in arms and signing a peace manifesto for dis- 
tribution among the people. General Funston's brilliant exploit was not left 
unrewarded. Its value was heightened by the great risk he had run in his 
daring deed, and on March 30th President McKinley promoted him to the rank 
of Brigadier-General in the United States army. His comrades were also 
suitably rewarded for their jiarticipation in the exploit, which was looked upon 
as the most signal instance of courage and daring during the entire war. 



282 PAN-AMEEICAN LXPOSITION. 

After two years of more or less active warfare the struggle in the Philip- 
pines was practically at an end. There were still some bands of brigands in 
the mountains, as there had been for centuries, but the revolutionists ceased 
their opposition, and the Taft Commission, appointed by President McKinley 
to establish a liberal form of government in the islands, met with the greatest 
success in its work. At the same time a large number of teachers were sent out 
from the United States to establish scliools in the islands, and thus confer upon 
their people the highest boon which this country was able to bestow — that of 
education on liberal principles. 

PAX-AMERICAN EXPOSITION. 

Among the events of the opening year of the twentieth centui} one of the 
most interesting was the Pan-American Exposition, held in the city of Buffalo, 
N. Y., from May 1 to Xovember 1. This jiroject was first plainied in 1897, 
the exposition to be held on a small scale, in 1899, on Cayuga Island, near 
Niagara Falls. The Spanish-American AVar, however, checked this jjroject, and 
when it was revived it was on a more ambitious scale. Buffalo was chosen as 
the site, and the original 50 acres were expanded into 350 acres, the ground 
chosen including the most beautiful portions of Delaware Park. A fund of 
$5,000,000 was provided by the city and citizens of Buffalo, appropriations were 
made by the State of Xew York and the Federal Government, and the work 
was begun on an estimate of $10,000,000 of expenditures. 

The purpose of this Exjjosition is clearly indicated in its name. It con- 
cerned itself solely with the countries of the two Americas and the new posses- 
sions of the United States, of which it was proposed to show the progress during 
the nineteenth century, a leading object of the enterprise being to bring into 
closer relations, commercially and socially, the republics and colonies of the 
Western Hemisjihere and 2iromote intercourse between their j^eoples. The De- 
partment of State, in June, 1899, invited the various American governments to 
take part in the' enterprise, and acceptances were very generally received. 

The preparations made for the Exposition were of the most admirable 
character, and, when comj^leted, the grounds and buildings presented a magnifi- 
cent scene. While on a smaller scale than the Philadelphia and Chicago 
World's Fairs, the Buffalo Fair surpassed all previous ones in architectural 
beauty. Instead of presenting the pure white of the Columbian Exposition, 
there was a generous use of brilliant colors and rich tints, which gave a glowing 
rainbow effect to the artistically grouped buildings ; the general style of archi- 
tecture being a free treatment of the Spanish Renaissance, in compliment to the 
Latin-American countries taking part. The elaborate hydraulic and fountain 



TEAXS-CONTINEXTAL TOUR OF THE PRESIDENT. 283 

arrangements, the horticultural and floral settings, and the sculptural ornament- 
ation, added greatly to the general efleet. 

Of the varied elements of the display, that of electricity stood first, the enor- 
mous electrical plant at Niagara and its connection by wire with Buffalo afford- 
ing unequalled facilities in this direction. The Electric Tower, 375 feet high, was 
the centre-piece of the Exposition, the edifice itself being stately and l)eautiful 
and its electric display on the grandest scale. The vari-colored electrical lountaiu 
was strikingly beautiful. There were winding canals, caverns and grottoes, 
water cascades, towers, domes and pinnacles, and other objects of attraction, not 
the least of them the Midway, with its diversified display, a feature which has 
become indispensable to all recent enterprises of this character. 

The exhibits were divided into fifteen classes, ranging from fine arts to 
transportation, and including displays from the Hawaiian and Phili^^pine 
Islands. During the sunnner and autumn the attendance Avas very large, the 
near vicinity of Niagara Falls, with its supreme scenic grandeur, forming a 
splendid addition to the commercial and industrial attractions of the Fair 

TKANS-CONTINENTAL TOUR OF THE PRESIDENT. 

Another event of much public interest which marked the year 1901 was a 
grand tour of the entire country projected by President jNIcKinley, on a scale 
far surpassing those undertaken by preceding Presidents, its limits being the 
Atlantic and Pacific in the East and West, and the Gulf and Lake States in the 
North and South. ' Leaving Washington on May 7th in a special train, whose 
cars were provided with every convenience and luxury which art could devise 
and skill provide, and following roads where the utmost care and precaution 
were taken to insure ease, safety and comfort of travel, the party proceeded 
through the southern portion of its route, the President being received in all 
the large cities and towns with a generous enthusiasm which spoke volumes for 
the unity of sentiment throughout the country. His appreciative remarks and 
well-chosen responses to addresses of welcome added greatly to the kindly feel- 
ing with which he was everywhere received. Unfortunately the severe illness 
of Mrs. McKinley, after San Francisco had been reached, ]iut an end to the 
tour when half completed. The life of the " Lady of the White House " was 
despaired of, but she recovered sufficiently to be brought back by the shortest 
route to Washington, attended at every point by her loving husband with the 
most assiduous and anxious care. 

The presence of the President in Washington was needed, for important 
political questions had arisen demanding his immediate attention and extended 
consultation with the members of his cabinet. These arose in consequence of a 
decision of the Supreme Court of the United States fixing the status of our 



284 ■ AFFAIBS IN CUBA AND CHINA. 

insular possessions. In a number of instances duties had been collected on 
goods imported from Porto Eico and Hawaii to this country, and in one instance 
fourteen diamonds brouglit by a soldier from the Philippine Islands had been 
seized for nou-i^ayment of duty. Several lawsuits brought for the recovery of 
these duties, on the claim that they had been illegally exacted, were decided 
adversely to the claimants by the lower courts, and appeals were taken to the 
Supreme Court. A decision was rendered by this court on May 28, 1901, in the 
sr.it of DeLinia & Co., merx;-hants of New York, which covered all the cases in- 
volved except the Philippine one, which was left in doubt. This opinion, an- 
nounced by Justice Brown, was concurred in by five members of the court, Chief 
Justice Fuller and Associate Justices Brown, Brewer, Harlan and Peckham, and 
dissented from by Justices Gray, Shiras, White and McKenna. 

The decision was to the effect, that before the Treaty of Paris Porto Rico 
was a foreign country and its exports were subject to full duties. After that treaty 
it became a domestic territory, and as such subject to the jurisdiction of Con- 
gress while it continued a territorial possession, tlie decision being that Congress 
has the right to administer the government of a territory and to lay such 
duties upon its commerce as it deems suitable. The effect of this decision was 
that, from the signing of the Treaty of Paris till the passage of the Foraker 
act fixing the duties at 15 per cent., no duties could legally be collected on 
Porto Rican goods. After that act was passed the duties designated by it could 
be exacted. 

This crucial decision fixes the status of all our insular possessions under 
civil control. But the court adjourned without rendering an opinion on the 
PhilijDpine case, and as the Philippine Islands differed from Porto Rico in being 
under military control, the question as to the right of the government to collect 
duties upon Philippine goods remained unsettled. Many held that the Presi- 
dent had no authority to exact duties, and that it would be necessary to call 
an extra session of Congress in order to pass a law governing the Philippine 
customs ; but the President decided that this was not needed, and that existing 
acts of Congress governed this special case. 

AFFAIRS IN CUBA AND CHINA. 

This was one of the questions which confronted President McKiuley on 
his return to Washington. Another had to do with Cuban affairs. The Cuban 
Constitutional Convention had accepted the Act of Congress fixing the relations 
between the United States and Cuba and establishinsj what misrht be called 
a mild form of protectorate over the island ; but its acceptance was vitiated 
by conditions which the President declined to accept, and the question was 
returned to tlie convention with the decisive understanding that the Piatt 



OTHER EVENTS OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. 285 

amendment must be accepted in its entirety, or the military occupation of Cuba 
would necessarily continue. On June 12, 1901, the Cuban Convention accepted 
this amendment in its original form, and the sole obstacle to Cuban indejjend- 
ence was removed. 

Meanvfliile the Chinese situation had been modified by the withdrawal of 
the American troops, except a legation guard ; other nations also ordering the 
withdrawal of their troops and restoring the government to the Chinese. The 
indemnity demanded from and accepted by China amounted to 1237,000,000, 
with interest at not over 4 per cent. This large sum was objected to by the 
United States Government, but was adopted on the demand of the other nations 
concerned. 

OTHER EVENTS OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. 

Among other events of national importance was the settlement of the vexed 
question of the number of soldiers in the army. The provision to make it 
100,000 men was modified on suggestion of General Miles, and the number 
fixed at 76,000, making one soldier for every 1000 of the population. The 
problem of a ship canal from the Atlantic to the Pacific was also given a new 
phase by a proposition from the French Panama Canal Company to sell their 
partly completed canal to the United States. This opened the question as to 
tiie comparative availability of the two routes, the Nicaragua and the Panama, 
and left the final choice open to future decision. 

In the sjjring of 1901 a signal discovery of petroleum was made in the 
southwest, a well being opened at Beaumont, Texas, which threw a six-inch 
stream of oil a hundred feet into the air. Other rich wells were subsequently 
opened, some of them in Louisiana and Tennessee, and great excitement pre- 
vailed in the speculative world. The oil differed essentially from that of Penn- 
sylvania, being ill adapted to refining and principally suitable for fuel. 

One of the most striking events of the year was the formation of an indus- 
trial combination on an unprecedented scale, a gigantic union of the steel manu- 
facturing interests of the country, with the immense capital of $1,100,000,000. 
A line of steamships was purchased in the interest of this concern, the railroad 
magnates of the country added to their holdings, and showed indications of an 
eventual general combination of transportation facilities, and the public stood 
aghast at these vast operations, iu doubt as to where they would end, or how the 
interests of the great multitude would be affected. Iti the spring of 1902 this 
combination of interests was adde<l to by a stupendous amalgamation of the 
trans-Atlantic steamship lines, embracing nearly all the great passenger and 
freight steamships plying between Europe and America ; the whole controlled 
by the American capitalists, who were at the head of the new steel and railroad 



286 McKINLEY SLAIN BY AN ANARCHIST. 

combinations. It was with such vast financial and industrial operations that 
the new century began its career. 

On the afternoon of Friday, September 6, 1901, this country and the whole 
world were thrown into consternation as the news was tlaslied over the wires 
that President McKinley had fallen by the hand of an assassin. That day had 
been appointed as Presidents' Day at the Pan-American Exposition lield at 
Buffalo, and elaborate preparations had been made to make this the event of 
the Exposition, all the high dignitaries of State, including the representatives 
of all the American governments, were in attendance. On September 5th the- 
President delivered a speech, which was easily his greatest effort, advocating 
reciprocity in trade and greater encouragement to commerce. On the morning 
of the 6th, with his wife and party, he had visited Niagara Falls and inspected 
the Exposition. After luncheon he was to hold a public reception in the 
Temple of Music to meet his countrymen and take them by the hand. No 
trouble was anticipated, although precautions had been taken to avoid mis- 
haps. President McKinley, assisted by President Milburn and others, received 
the people as they moved by in a long, continuous line, shaking hands and smil- 
ing upon each. The would-be assassin was a rather tall, boyish-looking fellow, 
apparently 25 years old ; about his right hand was wrapped a handkerchief, 
giving the impression to the officers that his hand was injured, especially as 
he extended his left across the right to shake hands with the President. 

Innocently facing the assassin, the President smiled as he extended his 
right hand to meet the left of the man before him. As the youth extended his 
left hand he suddenly raised his right, the one which held the pistol, and 
before any one knew what was transpiring two shots rang out, one following 
the other after the briefest portion of a second. For the first moment there 
was not a sound. 

The President drew his right hand quickly to his chest, raised his head, 
and his eyes looked upward and rolled. He swerved a moment, reeled and 
was caught in the arms of Secretary Cortelyou to his right. Catching him- 
self for the briefest second, President McKinley, whose face was now the white- 
ness of death, looked at the assassin as the officers and soldiers bore him to the ' 
floor, and said, feebly: "May God forgive him." Tiie President was first 
helped to a chair but was quickly removed on a stretcher to the emergency hos- 
pital, and all the eminent surgeons within reach were summoned. 

Two wounds were located, one in the breast, which was not serious, and 
the other in the abdomen, which proved fatal. There was every hope at first 
that he would recover, but after some days there came a relapse, and, although 
all that surgical and medical skill could do was done. President McKinley passed 



ASSASSIN OF rj!KsJ DKXT Jf'KIXLEV. 287 

away early on the morning of September 14th. His last words were memorable : 
"It's God's way ; His will, not ours, be done." 

The workl joined the Americiin people in mourning the beloved President. 
He was given a state funeral at Washington, September 17th, and buried at 
Canton, his home city, September lUth, amid impressive ceremonies. 

THE ASSASSIN. 

The man who assassinated President McKinley was Leon Czolgosz, a Rus- 
sian. Pole and an anarchist. At the time of the assassination he was descril)ed 
as follows : " He is twenty-eight years of age, slim, of dark complexion, with 
an intelligent and rather pleasing face. His features are straight and regular. 
He dresses with considerable neatness. There is nothing in his appearance 
that would attract unusual attention. He is not a suspicious-looking person." 

Czolgosz's parents were born in Russian Poland. They came to this 
country about 1865 as immigrants, and settled in the West. Czolgosz was born 
in Detroit, and hence was not an immigrant. He received some education in 
the common schools of that city, but left school and went to work when a boy 
as a blacksmith's apprentice. Later he read all the socialistic literature which he 
could obtain, and finally began to take pai-t in socialistic meetings. In time he 
became fairly well known in Chicago, Cleveland and Detroit, not only as a 
socialist, but as an anarchist of the most bitter type. 

Czolgosz was placed on trial in Buffnlo, September 2od, and was given able 
counsel to protect his interests. After an iinsensational and impartial trial' he 
was found guilty, and, on September 26th, he was sentenced to die in the 
electric chair at Auburn Prison, in the State of New York. The execution 
took place in the early morning of October 29, 1901, in the presence of twenty- 
two witnesses and the prison officials. 



CHAPTER XV 
TWENTItDTH CENTURY EVENTS. 

Theodore Roosevelt — A Popular President — The Nicaragua Canal — The Hay-Pauncefote Treaty — Pan- 
American Congress — The Schley Court of Inquiry — Expositions of Industry — The President's Mes- 
sage — Proceedings of Congress — Cuba and the Sugar Duty — Visit of Prince Henry — Cabinet Changes 
— The Danish West Indies — Philippine Aifairs. 

THE TWENTY-SIXTH PRESIDENT. 

By the provision of the Cotistitution governing the succession, Tlieodore 
Hoosevelt, the Vice-President, became President of the United States upon the 
death of William McKinley. He was at the time seeking recreation in the 
Adirondaeks, but, on receiving the news, he sped with all haste to Buffalo, where, 
on September 14th, he took the oath of office, at the same time pledging himself 
±0 carry out the policy of liis predecessor. 

Theodore Roosevelt was born October 27, 1858, in the city of New York, 
and therefore attained to the Presidency in his forty-third year, being the 
youngest of all our Presidents. Graduating from Harvard University in 1880, 
he quickly grew active in New York politics, and in 1881 was elected a 
member of the Assembly. He served for three years in that body, in which he 
became influential and took a leading part in reform legislation for New 
York City. 

In 1884 he was the Republican candidate for Mayor of New York, and, 
though defeated, received a large vote. He was flppointed in 1889, by President 
Harrison, on the Civil Service Commission, and in 1895 became Police Com- 
missioner of New York. His earnestness and energy for reform in both of these 
offices won him a national reputation, and led, in April, 1897, to liis appoint- 
ment as Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Here, too, he did excellent work, 
hut as soon as war with Spain was assui'ed he resigned, organized the regiment 
of cowboy cavalry familiarly known as "Roosevelt's Rough Riders," and made 
himself the most popular figure in the Santiago campaign in Cuba. Coming 
home as the real hero of the military part of the war, as Dewey was of the 
naval, he was, in the autumn of 1898, elected Governor of New York, and, in 
1900, much against his own desire, was given the Republican nomination for 
Vice-President. Some of the party leaders hoped thus to "shelve" this ener- 
getic and unmanageable favorite of the people in a passive post of honor, but, as 

288 



ADMINISTRATION OF ROOSEVELT. 2R0 

events proved, the nomination led bim to the highest office in the gift of the 
American people. 

OPENING OF THE ADMINISTRATION. 

The President's demeanor in the elevated position to which he had so 
suddenly and unexpectedly been raised was one that inspired public confidence 
and met with general approval. In addition to bis pledge to conform to the 
policy of the McKinley administration, be requested all the members of the 
Cabinet to remain in office till the end of his term. These assurances dissipated 
the feeling of dread that the new President might inaugurate an untried and 
disastrous policy, as in some previous instances of the same kind. 

The first official act of President Roosevelt was to issue a proclamation 
appointing Thursday, September 19tb, as a day of mourning for the lamented 
late President. In the impressive funeral obsequies which followed he took 
part as chief mourner on the part of the nation, and comported himself with a 
grave dignity well suited to the situation, and winning bira fresh public esteem- 

. THE NICARAGUA CANAL. 

Several events of much importance took place in the early months of the 
new administration, chief among them being what is known as the Hay- 
Puuncefote Treaty — a convention between the United States and Great Britain 
to establish a new status of these powers in Nicaragua. 

For years the desirability of constructing an inter-oceanic ship canal across 
Nicaragua or the Isthmus bad been strongly felt. Much work in excavation 
had been done by private companies ; but these having failed, Congress became 
inclined to make the enterprise a national one, the United States to construct 
and control the canal. Commissions of engineers were sent to investigate and 
report on the most available route, with the result of that across Nicaragua, via 
the San Juan River and Lake Nicaragua, being given the preference. 

One thing stood in the way of this, the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty of 1850, 
which still held good in spite of various efforts for its repeal. This treaty 
established a joint control between the United States and Great Britain over 
any canal that might be made, an arrangement by no means satisfactory in case 
the United States should construct it alone. As this treaty had wrecked several 
efforts to carry a canal bill through Congress, a new treaty was negotiated in 
1900, but failed of acceptance, as it did not remove the old difficulty. Finally, 
in 1901, a second treaty was prepared by Secretary Hay and Lord Pauncefote, the 
British Ambassador, in which the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty was formally set 
aside, and the United States given sole control of the canal ; which, however, 
was to be free and open to the vessels of all nations. This treaty was ratified 
by the Senate on December 16, 1901. 
19 



290 THE SCHLEY COURT OF INQUIRY. 

Bills for the construction of a canal at the cost of the United States were 
now introduced into both Houses of Congress, the estimated cost being $189,- 
000,000. The House bill was passed early in January, 1902, with only two 
negative votes. But before the Senate could act the situation took on a new phase. 
The Panama Canal, })artly excavated by the De Lesseps Company, and upon 
which a new company had been engaged, was offered to the United States at a 
cost of $40,000,000. As it was about two-fifths finished, it was estimated that 
at this price it could be completed more cheaply than the Nicaragua Canal. 
It presented other advantages also, and the commission now reported in its 
favor. The Senate, however, deferred action upon the subject. 

THE PANAMA CANAL. 

As a result of the offer of sale by the French Panama Canal Company, 
and the subsequent report in favor of the Panama route, under the new circum- 
stances, by the canal commission, a treaty was negotiated with Colombia on 
January 22, 1903, giving to the United States the requisite powers to construct 
a canal across the Isthmus of Panama, with "the use and control" of a,strip of 
territory five kilometers (three miles) wide on each side of the canal, all the 
requisite right of neutrality and defence being guaranteed. For these rights 
and privileges the United States was to pay Colombia $10,000,000, and after the 
first nine years a rental of $250,000 annually. 

On June 19th, the Senate passed a bill in accordance with this treaty, agreeing 
to pay the French company $40,000,000 for its rights in the unfinished canal, 
and to Colombia such sum as might be agreed upon, and authorizing the Presi- 
dent, in case the Panama route should not be acquired, to take steps toward the 
construction of a canal by the Nicaragua route. The Republic of Colombia 
was given eight months from January 22 for the ratification of the treaty, little 
doubt being felt on this point ; but the Senate of that country, for reasons not 
clearly defined, rejected the treaty. 

This led to an unlooked-for result. The people of Panama, angered at the 
prospective loss of the canal, which they ardently desired, proclaimed a revolu- 
tion and the establishment of an indejiendent republic on November 3d. From 
that time events moved' rapidly. A brief bombardment of the city of Panama 
by a Colombian gunboat on the 3d, the landing of United States marines to jjro- 
tect the railway property on the 4th, the evacuation of Colon by the Colombian 
troops on the 5th, tlie tentative recognition of the new government of Panama 
by the United States on the 6th, and the reception of Philippe Bunau-Varilla 
as Minister from the new republic on the 13th, were the chief occurrences. 

On November 18th a canal treaty between the United States and 
Panama was signed by Secretary Hay and Minister Varilla, and was ratified 
shortly afterward by the authorities of the new government. This treaty dif- 
fered from the previous one, in favor of the United States, in the following par- 



PAN-AMERICAN CONGRESS. 291 

ticulars : It conceded a strip of five miles wi<]e on each side of the canal, a per- 
petual lease, and absolute control by the United States of the canal strip in 
police, judicial and sanitary matters, while the |10,000,000 bonus and the an- 
nual lease were to be paid to Panama instead of Columbia. 

With the opening of 1904 interest in the Panama Canal project grew rap- 
idly through the revolution and the birth of a new republic on the Isthmus. 
sAll sections of the country recognized the advantages which would accrue to 
the United States in commerce by the early completion of the Canal. 

PAN-AMERICAN CONGRESS. 

On October 22, 1901, there met in the city of Mexico a congress of dele- 
gates from the United States and the various other American Republics, to con- 
sider questions of policy concerning the relations of the peoples of the Western 
Continent. The most important subject dealt with by this Pan-American 
Congress, as it was called, was that of international arbitration. An agreement 
was made to adopt the regulations made at the Hague Arbitration Conference, 
and a majority of the delegates went so far as to favor compulsory arbitration. 
This failed through the opposition of Chili, unanimous approval being necessary. 

THE SCHLEY COURT OF INQUIRY. 

A more immediate subject of interest was the action of the Naval Court of 
Inquiry convened at the request of Admiral Schley to investigate his conduct 
during the war with Spain. Since this war a controversy had existed between 
his friends and those of Admiral Sampson, one party claiming for Schley, the 
other for Sampson, the honor of commanding in the great fight with the Sjaanish 
squadron at Santiago. A scurrilous attack made upon Schley by the author of 
a history of the United States Navy, an extreme Sampson partisan, was the 
immediate cause of Admiral Schley's attempt to obtain vindication. 

The court convened at Washington, September 12, 1901, with Admiral 
Dewey as presiding officer and Admirals Benham and Ramsay as the remaining 
members. Its decision was made public on December loth. In this decision 
the majority of the court, while giving Schley credit for courage, found him 
blamable in several important particulars, including the famous " loop," or 
turn of the " Brooklyn " away from the Spanish vessels. 

Admiral Dewey gave a minority report, in which he sustained Schley in most 
of these particulars, and said further : " He was in absolute command, and is 
entitled to the credit due to such commanding officer for the glorious victory 
which resulted in the total destruction of the Spanish ships." 



292 ADMINISTRATION OF ROOSEVELT. 

Secretary of the Navy Long approved of the majority finding of the court, 
whereupon Admiral Schley made a personal appeal to the President for a 
revision of the case. After a full study of the evidence, Roosevelt dismissed 
the whole affair, with the implication that neither of the contestants had won 
any special honor, remarking that no action had been taken on any ship " in 
obedience to the orders of either Sampson or Schley, save on their own two 
vessels. It was a captain's fight." This decision was soon followed by the 
death of Admiral Sampson, which took place May 6, 1902. 

EXPOSITIONS OF ART AND INDUSTRY. 

The Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo closed at the beginning of 
November, and on December 1st there was inaugurated at Charleston, S. C, a 
South Carolina Inter-state and West Indian Exposition, to remain open for six 
months. 

This exposition was opened by President Roosevelt, who touched an electric 
button in the White House, at Washington, and set the machinery in motion. It 
embraced a general exhibit of the results of industiy in the South, while many 
Northern States and a number of the West India Islands contiibuted. While 
on a smaller scale than the Buffalo Exposition, the buildings were artistic and 
handsome, and the exhibits highly attractive, reflecting great credit on the 
enterprise and industry of the South. An exposition on a much larger scale, 
a World's Fair at St. Louis, commemorating the purchase of Louisiana Terri- 
tory in 1803, was projected for 1904. 

On March 3, 1901, Congress took the first step toward this Exposition, 
appropriating $5,000,000, which was not to be drawn on till the company had 
expended $10,000,000. A site embracing 1,190 acres was secured, and the nec- 
essary buildings were constructed, there being fourteen department buildings, 
averaging about 550 feet wide, and ranging from 750 to 1500 feet in length, 
the Agricultural Building being the largest ever constructed for a single tyj^e 
of exhibit. Many other buildings were erected by States and foreign countries, 
and the Exposition, which occupied much more space than any preceding one, 
promised also to stand first in extent and variety of exhibits. 

As it was impossible to have the buildings ready by the spring of 1903, 
the opening was deferred until 1904 ; but a formal ceremony of dedication took 
place on April 30, 1903, in the jn-esence of President Roosevelt, ex-President 
Cleveland, members of Congress, the Diplomatic Corps and Governors of States, 
and a large and enthusiastic assembly. Among the addresses made were nota- 
ble ones by the French ambassador and the Spanish minister, representatives 
of countries which had preceded the United States in the ownership of the Lou- 
isiana territory. 



ROOSEVELT'S FIRST MESSAGE. 293 

President Roosevelt's message to the Fifty-seventh Congress, at its opening 
session, was looked for with intense interest. During the brief period in which 
he had occupied the presidential chair he had won pojuilar applause, while faith 
in his sturdy integrity and admiration for his stalwart independence of character 
gained him friends in all parties. But the exact stand he would take on the 
great pnblic questions of the day was not known, and the people awaited his 
message with a degree of anxiety. 

The document, when issued, was therefore read with avidity. It showed 
the hand of a practiced author and clear thinker, and its treatment of the varied 
topics reviewed was held to be able and promising. The hand of the earnest 
reformer, yet of the self-contained statesman, was evident throughout. 

Several of the problems referred to in the President's message became 
subjects of Congressional action. Among these was the canal question, already 
mentioned, and the passage of a bill regulating tariff charges upon Philippine 
commerce. The tariff on exports fi'oni Porto Rico had been abolished by 
President McKinley, in accordance with the terms of the act of Congress in 
the summer of 1901. On March 8, 1902, a Philippine tariff bill was enacted 
by which the duties on exports to the United States were reduced twenty-five 
per cent. 

The war taxes imposed to 2:)rovide funds for the war with Spain were found, 
after the expenses of this war had been met, to yield an excess of revenue. In 
consequence, a strong demand for their repeal was made. The principal stamp 
taxes had been taken off in 1901, and in 1902 the remainder of these taxes 
were repealed, the country returning to its ante-war revenue status. Another 
Congressional measure of importance had to do with the act for the exclusion of 
the Chinese. This expired in the spring of 1902, and a renewal of the " yellow- 
peril," in the form of a great influx of Chinese laborers, was threatened. This 
was prevented by a re-enactment of the law. It was made to apply also to the 
Philippine Islands, which had hitherto been freely open to Chinese immigration. 
Still another Congressional measure was the establishment of a permanent census 
bureau. The work in this field of labor had so increased that it was deemed 
necessary to keep it in continuous action. 

CUBAN RECIPROCITY. 

Among the measures considered during this session of Congress, one of 
the most important had to do with Cuban affairs. In accordance with the con- 
stitution adopted for the new Republic of Cuba, an election was held on the last 
day of 1901, Tomas Estrada Palma being chosen for President. The final 
act in giving full independence to the island republic was the withdrawal of 
United States troops, which was fixed to take place May 20, 1902. 



294 CUBAN RECIPROCITY 

But the Cubans found their new indejiendence likely to j^jrove a serious 
economic burden. Cuba being a foreign country, only temporarily under Ameri- 
can supervision, the full tariff charges of the United States revenue law were 
enforced against its exports. Of these the most important was sugar, whose 
production was the leading industry of the island. This product was chiefly 
consumed in the United States. But it could not compete profitably with the 
beet-sugar of Europe, and unless some tariff concession was made the sugar 
planters would be in peril of ruin. 

President Roosevelt, feeling that we owed some degree of protection to the 
country which we had launched on the high seas of independence, advocated in 
his message a measure of tariff reciprocity with Cuba, and a bill was introduced 
in Congress for a partial remission of the duty on sugar. This bill not being 
acted on during the regular session of Congress, ending March 4, 1903, an extra 
session of the Senate was called to consider a treaty of reciprocity negotiated 
with Cuba. This was favorably acted on by the Senate, though with the provi- 
sion that it should not become operative until approved by Congress. 

To expedite this approval, which might be delaj'ed in the regular session, 
the President called Congress into extra session, to meet November 9th, and the 
measure passed the House on the 19th. Tlie Senate, however, declined to act 
until the regular session, so that final apj^roval was deferred until December 16th. 
The President signed the treaty on the following day, December 17, 1903. 

The treaty provided that a reduction of 20 per cent, from the rates of the 
Dingley tariff bill of 1897 should be made on all articles of Cuban production 
imported into the United States ; Cuba agreeing in return to make reductions 
from her tariff rates ranging from 20 to 40 per cent, on all imported articles of 
United States production. Thus was settled a question which had remained 
open since 1898. 

THE COAL STRIKE. 

The Roosevelt administration was notable for events of great importance in 
the industrial field. A meeting was held in New York, December 16, 1901, by 
the National Civic Federation to consider the best means of promoting indus- 
trial peace. It resulted in the creation of an " Industrial Department of the 
National Civic Federation," composed of twelve representatives each of em- 
ployers, of workmen, and of the public, Marcus A. Hanna heading the first, 
Samuel Gompers the second, and ex-President Cleveland the third. 

Several strikes were successfully settled by this new agency, but it failed in 
its effort to settle the greatest industrial upheaval of the period, a dispute be- 
tween the anthracite coal miners of Pennsylvania and the operators, which 
ended in a serious strike, nearly one hundred and fifty thousand miners being 



THE COAL STRIKE. 295 

involved. Tins strike began on May 15, 1902, and continued until late in the 
autumn, by which time anthracite coal had grown so scarce and high in price as 
to cause intense fear of suifering from cold. Coal went up to |20 and more per 
ton and was hard to get at any price. 

The situation at length grew so intolerable that President Roosevelt sought to 
settle it, and the workmen were finally induced to accept the decision of a commis- 
sion of arbitration appointed by him. In consequence, on October 20th, the strike 
came to an end. The commissioners chosen were Judge George Gray, of the 
U. S. Circuit Court; General John M. Wilson, U. S. Army ; Edward W. Parker, 
Edward E. Clark, Thomas H. Watkins, Bishop John L. Spalding, and Carroll 
D. Wright, U. S. Commissioner of Labor. The commission began its sessions on 
October 24th, and continued in session for several months. Its final decision was 
accepted with satisfaction by both parties, each gaining some of the points in 
contention, and this ended a labor dispute which had affected the people at large 
more widely and seriously than any other ever known in this country. 

THE BOUNDARY OF ALASKA. 

The boundary between Alaska and Canada, which had been a subject of 
serious dispute since the discovery of the valuable gold deposits of the Klondike, 
was finally adjusted in 1903 in favor of the United States. Canada alleged 
that the true meaning of the boundary established in 1825 by treaty between 
Russia and Great Britain was that the line should not follow the windings of 
the coast at ten leagues inland, but should be measured from a line intersecting 
headlands and promontories along the coast. This would have given Canada 
the head of Lynn Canal and access to the sea without crossing United States 
territory. 

After long contention, a Boundary Commission was created in 1903, the 
American Commissioners being Secretary of War Elihu Root, Senator Henry 
C. Lodge, and ex-Senator George Turner. Canada was represented by Justice 
Aylesworth and Sir Louis Jette, and Great Britain by Lord Chief Justice Al- 
verstone. The award of the commission, signed October 20th, sustained the Ameri- 
can contention. Lord Alverstone assenting and the two Canadians dissenting ; 
the United States being accorded a strip of land fifteen to thirty miles wide 
from the mouth of Portland Canal at 54° 41' N. to Mount St. Elias. This deci- 
sion was bitterly resented in Canada, which claimed that it had been unjustly 
dealt with and deprived of its true rights ; but the award of the Commission 
was final. 

DEPARTMENT OF COMMERCE. 

To the eight executive departments of the Government — those of State, 
War, Navy, Treasury, Post-office, Justice, the Interior and Agriculture — a 



lolei 



296 DEPARTMENT OF C03IWERCE. 

ninth was added in February, 1903, entitled the " Department of Commerce 
and Industry,'' to take control of the rapidly growing interests of exports, man- 
ufactures, transportation and internal commerce, in which the United States had 
reached the head of the great nations of the world. To indicate the magnitude 
of the business interests involved, it may be stated that the Bureau of Statistics, 
which has become a part of the new department, estimates the internal com- 
merce of the country alone at |20,000,000, 000, or equal to the entire international 
commerce of the world. George B. Cortelyou, who had served as secretary to 
the President during several administrations, was j^laced at the head of the new 
department, and became a ninth member of the President's cabinet. 

THE REGULATION OF TRUSTS. 

In President Roosevelt's message to Congress of December 2, 1902, an 
earnest appeal was made for legislation for the regulation and control of indus- 
trial organizations, or trusts, to prevent their becoming monopolies, and in this 
way operating against the public welfare. In response to this appeal Congress 
passed a bill for the prevention of discrimination or the giving of rebates in 
railroad freight charges, making favoritism of this kind punishable by fine and 
imprisonment. 

The most important attempt to develop a monopoly in recent years was the 
formation of the United Securities Company, which, by purchasing the greater 
part of the stock of the Great Northern Railroad and the Northern Pacific 
Railroad, tended to prevent competition between these parallel lines. The 
United States Circuit Court for Minnesota arave a decision that this act consti- 
tuted a merger, and was contrary to the Sherman anti-trust law — a decision 
which affected all similar cases. An appeal was made to the United States Su- 
preme Court, before which the question was brought for argument on December 
14, 1903. 



iXibvar^ of Hmencatv 



lHi6tor\>, Xitetatutc anb Bioovapb^ 



COMPLETE IN 



=ONE VOLUME 



American Literature 



CONTAINING THE LIVES AND BEST WRITINGS 
or OUR. MOST NOTED AMERICAN AUTHORS 



EMBRACING THE GREAT POETS, FAMOUS NOVELISTS, 
DISTINGUISHED ESSAYISTS AND HUMORISTS, POPULAR 
WRITERS FOR THE YOUNG AND THE MASTERPIECES OF 
AMERICAN LITERATURE, INCLUDING THE TEN GREAT- 
EST BOOKS OF THE LAST CENTURY OF THE WORLDS 
LITERATURE ^^^JtJt^^Jts 



COMPILED AND EDITED BY 

Milliam Milfreb Bir^0aII, a.flD. 

Principal of the Girls* High School, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 



PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATFD 

WITH HALF-TONE rORTBAITS AND TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY DISTINGUISHED AMERICAN ARTISTS * 



American Literature 
Copyrighted 1897, 1899, 1904 




THE DISTINCTIVE PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THIS VOLUME. 




HIS work has been designed and prepared with a view to presenting an 
outline of American literature in such a manner as to stimulate a 
love for good reading and especially to encourage the study of the 
lives and writings of our American authors. The plan of this work 
is unique and original, and possesses certain helpful and interesting 
featui-es, which — so far as we are aware — have been contemplated by 
no other single volume. 

The first and main jJurpose of the work is to present to our American homes a 
mass of wholesome, varied and well-selected reading matter. In this respect it is 
substantially a volume for the family. America is pre-eminently a country of 
homes. These homes are the schools of citizenship, and — next to the Bible, which 
is the foundation of our morals and laws — we need those books which at once enter- 
tain and instruct, and, at the same time, stimulate patriotism and pride for our 
native land. 

This book seeks to meet this demand. Properly all of our space is devoted ex- 
clusively to American literature. Nearly all other volumes of selections are made 
up chiefly from foreign authors. The reason for this is obvious. Foreign publications 
until within the last few years have been free of copyright restrictions. Anything 
might be chosen and copied from them while American authors were protected by 
law from such outrages. Consequently, American material under forty-two years of 
age could not be used without the consent of the owner of the copyright. The 
expense and the difficulty of obtaining these permissions were too great to warrant 
compilers and publishers in using American material. The constantly growing 
demand, however, for a work of this class has encouraged the publishers of this 

2qq 



3°° THE DISTINCTIVE PURPOSE AND PLAN OF THIS VOLUME. 

volume to undertake the task. The publishers of the works from which these selec- 
tions are made and many living authors represented have been corresponded with, 
and it is only through the joint courtesy and co-operation of these many publishers 
and authors that the production of this volume has been made possible. Due 
acknowledgment will be found elsewhere. In a number of instances the selections 
have been made by the authore themselves, who have also rendered other valu- 
able assistance in supplying data and photographs. 

The second distinctive point of merit in the plan of the work is the biographical 
feature, which gives the story of each author's life separately, treating them both 
personally and as writers. Longfellow remarked in " Hyperion " — " If you once 
understand the character of an author the comprehension of his writings becomes 
easy." He might have gone further and stated that when we have once read the 
life of an author his writings become the more interesting. Goethe assures us that 
" Every author portrays himself in his works even though it be against his will." 
The patriarch in the Scriptures had the same thought in his mind when he exclaimed 
" Oh ! that mine enemy had written a book." Human nature remains the same. 
Any book takes on a new phase of value and interest to us the moment we know 
the story of the writer, whether we agree with his statements and theories or not. 
These biographical sketches, which in every case are placed immediately before the 
selections from an author, give, in addition to the story of his life, a list of the 
principal books he has written, and the dates of publication, together with com- 
ments on his literary style and in many instances reviews of his best known works 
This, with the selections which follow, established that necessary bond of sympathy 
and relationship which should exist in the mind of the reader between every author 
and his writings. Furthermore, under this arrangement the l)iography of each 
author and the selections from his works compose a complete and independent 
chapter in the volume, so that the writer may be taken up and studied or read alone, 
or in connection with others in the particular class to which he belongs. 



^ t 




H^w<HOXH^ 







iKyfW^j 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



THE GREAT POETS OF AMERICA 



VE-LIAM CULLEN BRYANT 

An Author at Fourteen 307 

The Influence of His Father . . . . 307 

Bryant's Best-known Poems .... 308 

Personal Appearance 309 

1 A Long and Useful Life 309 

! 'Thanatopsis' 310 

'Waiting by the Gate' 310 

'Blessed are They that Mourn' . . . 311 

'Antiquity of Freedom' 312 

'To a Water Fowl' 312 

'Robert of Lincoln' . , 313 

'Drought' 313 

'The Past' 314 

'The Murdered Traveler' 314 

'The Battlefield' 315 

EDGAR ALLAN FOE 

Comparison with other American 

Poets 316 

Place of Birth and Ancestry . . . . 316 

Career as a Student .... . . 317 



The Sadness of His Life and its In- 
fluence upon His Literature . . . 317 
Conflicting Statements of Biographers 318 
Great as a Story Writer and as a Poet 318 
His Literary Labors and Productions 319 

'Lenore' 320 

'The Bells' ... 320 

'The Raven' 322 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW 

His Place in Literature 325 

Comparison with American and Eng- 
lish Poets 325 

His Education, College Mates, and 

Home 326 

The Wayside Inn (A View of) . . 326 
His Domestic Life. His Poems . . 328 
His Critics : Poe, Margaret Fuller, 

Duyckink 328 

Prose Works and Translations . . . 328 

Longfellow's Genius 328 

301 



302 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



'The Village Blacksmith' . . . 


• 329 


'The Bridge' 


■ 330 


'Resignation' 


■ 330 


'God's Acre' 


■ 331 


'Excelsior' 


• 331 


'The Rainy Day' 


• 332 


'The Wreck of the Hesperus' . 


• 332 


'The Old Clock on the Stairs' . 


■ 333 


'The Skeleton in Armor' . . . 


• 334 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

The Difficulty of Classifying Emerson 336 

The Liberator of American Letters . 336 

A Master of Language 337 

Emerson and Franklin 337 

Birth, Education, Early Life ... 337 
Home at Concord. Brook Farm 

Enterprise 338 

Influence on Other Writers .... 339 
Modern Communism and the New 

Theology 339 

'Hymn Sung at the Completion of the 

Concord Monument (1836)' . . . 340 

'The Rhodora' 340 

'The True Hero' 340 

'Mountain and Squirrel' 341 

'The Snow Storm' 341 

'The Problem' 341 

'Traveling' 342 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Whittier's Humble Birth, Ancestry, 

Education 343 

Poet of the Abolitionists 344 

His Poems and His Prose 344 

Our Most Distinctively American Poet 345 
New England's History Embalmed 

in Verse 345 

'My Playmate' 346 

'The Changeling' 346 

'The Worship of Nature' 348 

'The Barefoot Boy' 348 



PAGE 

'Maud MuUer' 349 

'Memories' 350 

'The Prisoner for Debt' 351 

'The Storm' (from 'Snow Bound') . 352 

'Ichabod' 353 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

Admired by the English-speaking 

World 354 

His Education and Popularity . . . 354 

Early Poems 354 

Autocrat and Professor at the Break- 
fast Table 355 

Holmes' Genial and Lovable Nature 355 

'Bill and Joe' 357 

'Union and Liberty' 357 

'Old Ironsides' 358 

'My Aunt' 358 

'The Height of the Ridiculous' . . 358 
"The Chambered Nautilus' .... 359 
'Old Age and the Professor' (Prose) 359 
'My Last Walk with the School Mis- 
tress' 360 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

Profoundest of American Poets . . 361 
Early Life and Beginning in Litera- 
ture 361 

Marriage and the Influence of His 

Wife 362 

Home at Cambridge (View of) . . 362 
Longfellow's Poem on Mrs. Lowell's 

Death 363 

Humorous Poems and Prose Writings 363 
Public Career of the Author . . . 364 
How Lowell is Regarded by Scholars 364 

'The Gothic Genius' 365 

'The Rose' 365 

'The Heritage' 366 

'Act for Truth' 367 

'The First Snow Fall' 367 

'Fourthof July Ode' 368 

'The Dandelion' 368 



FIVE POPULAR WESTERN POETS 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



Great Popularity with the Masses 
A Poet of the Country People 
Birth and Education .... 

First Occupation 

Congratulated by Longfellow 
Mr. Riley's Methods of Work 



369 
369 
370 
370 
370 
370 



The Poet's Home ........ 371 

Constantly 'On the Wing' .... 371 

'A Boy's Mother' 371 

'Thoughts on the Late War .... 371 

'Our Hired Girl' 372 

'The Raggedy Man' 372 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



303 



FRANCIS BRET HARTE 

The Poet of the Mining Camp . 
Emigrated to California . . . 
School Teacher and Miner . . 
Position on a Frontier Paper . 
Editorial Position on the Golden Era 
Secretary of the U. S. Mint . 
In Chicago and Boston .... 
'Society upon the Stanislaus' . 
'Dickens in Camp' 



373 
373 
373 
373 
373 
374 
374 
375 
376 



EUGENE FIELD 

The 'Poet of Child Life' 377 

Peacemaker Among the Small Ones 377 
A Feast with His Little Friends . . 377 
Congenial Association with His Fel- 
low Workers 378 

Birth and Early Life 378 

His Works 378 

'Our Two Opinions' 379 

'Lullaby' 379 

'A Dutch Lullaby' 379 

'The Norse Lullaby' 380 



PAGE 

WILL CARLETON 

His Poems Favorites for Recitations 381 

Birth and Early Life 381 

Teacher, Farmhand, and College 

Graduate 381 

Journalist and Lecturer 381 

A List of His Works 382 

'Betsy and I are Out' 382 

'Gone with a Handsomer Man' . . 383 

CINCINNATUS HINER MILLER {Joachim) 

Experience in Mining and Filibus- 
tering 386 

Marries and Becomes Editor and 

Lawyer 386 

Visit to London to Seek a Publisher 387 
Comparison Between Miller and Bret 

Harte 387 

'Thoughts of My Western Home' . 388 

'Mount Shasta' 388 

'Kit Carson's Ride' 389 

'Alaska Letter' . 390 



OUR MOST NOTED NOVELISTS 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 

Birth and Childhood 391 

Sailor Life 392 

Marriage and Home 392 

'The Spy' 392 

Plaudits from Both Sides of the At- 
lantic 392 

Removal to New York 393 

'Encounter with a Panther' .... 395 

'The Capture of a Whale' 397 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

Birth, Ancestors and Childhood . . 399 
Twelve Years of Solitary Existence 399 

His First Book 400 

A Staunch Democrat 401 

Marriage and the 'Old Manse' . . . 401 
The Masterpiece in American Fiction 401 

Death and Funeral 402 

'Emerson and the Emersonites' . . 403 
'Pearl' 403 

EDWARD EVERETT HALE 
Among the Best-known American 
Authors 405 



A Noted Lecturer 405 

Birth and Education 405 

Career as a Clergyman 405 

Newspaper and Magazine Work . . 405 
An Historical Writer of Great Promi- 
nence 406 

Patriotic Interest in Public Affairs . 406 

'Lost' 406 

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS 

Birth and Early Life 408 

'EA\\.or oi ih.& Ohio State Journal . . 408 

His First Volume of Verse .... 408 

Consul to Venice 408 

Mr. Howells' Works 409 

Editor of the Atlantic Monthly . . . 409 

'Impressions on Visiting Pompeii' . 410 

'Venetian Vagabonds' 411 

GENERAL LEW WALLACE 

Birth and Early Life 412 

Lawyer and Soldier 412 



304 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



P&GE 

Governor of Utah 412 

Appointed Minister to Turkey . . . 412 

His Most Popular Book 413 

'Description of Christ' 413 

'The Prince of India Teaches Rein- 
carnation' 413 

'Death of Montezuma' 414 



EDWARD EGGLESTON "m 

Birth and Early Life 415 

A Man of Self-culture 415 

His Early Training 415 

Religious Devotion and Sacrifice . . 416 

Beginning of His Literary Career . 416 

List of His Chief Novels and Stories 416 

'Spelling Down the Master' .... 417 



OUR NATIONAL HUMORISTS 



HENRY "W. SHAW {Josh BiUings) 

Birth and Education 420 

His Early Life of Adventure . . . 420 

Entered the Lecture Field .... 420 

Contributor to The New York Weekly 420 

His Published Books 420 

'Manifest Destiny' 421 

'Letters to Farmers' 422 

SAMUEL L. CLEMENS yMark T-wain) 

A World-wide Reputation 423 

Birth, Boyhood and Education . . 423 

His Pilot Life 423 

Editor of the Virginia City Enterprise 423 

Journalist and Gold Digger .... 423 

A Trip to Hawaii 423 

'Innocents Abroad' 423 

Some of His Other Works .... 424 

A Lecturing Trip Around the World 424 

'Jim Smiley 's Frog' 424 

'Uncle Dan'l's Apparition and Prayer 425 

'The Babies' 427 

CHAS. POLLEN ADAMS (Ya.'wcob Strauss) 

A Not-soon-to-be-forgotten Author . 428 

Birth, Education and Early Life . . 428 

Service in Many Hard-Fought Battles 428 

Prominent Business Man 428 

A Contributor to Prominent Journals 428 

A Genial and Companionable Man . 428 

'Der Drummer' 429 

'Hans and Fritz' 429 

'Yawcob Strauss' 429 

'Mine Moder-in-Law • 430 



EDGAR WILSON NYE {Bill Nye) 

Birth and Early Surroundings . . . 431 

Studied Law, Admitted to the Bar . 431 

Organized the Nye Trust 43 r 

Famous Letters from Buck's Shoals, 

N. C 431 

'History of the United States' . . . 432 

His Death 432 

'The Wild Cow' 432 

'Mr. Whisk's True Love' 432 

'The Discovery of New York' . . . 433 

JOEL C. HARRIS {Uncle Remus) 

Birth and Humble Circumstances . 435 

In the OfiBce of the Countryman . . 435 

Beginning of His Literary Career . 435 

Studied and Practised Law .... 436 

Co-editor of the Atlanta Constiiutio7i 436 

His Works 436 

'Mr. Rabbit, Mr. Fox and Mr. Buz- 
zard' 436 

ROBERT J. BURDETTE 

Birth and Early Education .... 440 

Fought in the Civil War 440 

Journalist, Lecturer and Baptist Min- 
ister 440 

Contributor to Ladies' Home Journal 440 

His Other Works 440 

'The Movement Cure for Rheuma- 
tism' 441 



POPULAR WRITERS 

LOUISA M. ALCOTT 

Architect of Her Own Fortune . . 443 

Her Early Writings 443 

In the Government Hospitals . . . 444 

Her Books 444 

An Admirer of Emerson . . . . 444 

A Victim of Overwork 445 

'How Jo Made Friends' 445 



FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

WILLIAM T. ADAMS (Ofeer Optic) 

Writer for the Young 447 

Birth and Early Life 447 

Teacher in Public Schools .... 447 

His Editorials and Books 447 

His Style and Influence 447 

'The Sloop That Went to the Bottom' 447 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



305 



HORATIO ALGER pag^ 

His First Book a Great Success . . 449 

A New Field 449 

Birth, Education and Early Life . . 449 

In New York 449 

Some of His Most Prominent Books 450 

'How Dick Began the Day' .... 450 

EDWARD ELLIS 

Birth and Early Life 452 

His Historical Text Books .... 452 

Contributions to Children's Papers . 452 

'The Signal Fire' 452 

SARAH JANE LIPPEMCOTT {Gr3.ce Green'oxxxi) 

Favorite 'Writer for Little Children . 454 



Birth and Childhood 454 

Her Marriage 454 

Contributions to Journals and Maga- 
zines 454 

Her Numerous Books 454 

Life Abroad 454 

'The Baby in the Bath Tub . ... 454 

MARTHA HNLEY 

Author of "Elsie Books" 457 

Of Distinguished Family 457 

Her Ohio Home 457 

Moves to New York 457 

Her Home in Maryland 458 

'Elsie's Disappointment' 459 



AMERICAN LITtRATURE AT THE CLOSE OF 
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

A GROUP OF HISTORICAL NOVELISTS 462 

i Mary Johnston, S. 'Weir Mitchell, Winston Churchill, 

Paul Leicester Ford, Booth Tarkington 

i NOVELISTS OF HUMOR 464 

' Edward Noyes 'Westcott, Irving Bacheller, Frank R. 

Stockton, Kate Douglas 'Wiggin 

RECENT AMERICAN HISTORIANS 467 

John B. McMaster, John Fiske, George Bancroft, 
Edward Eggleston, Thomas "Wentworth Higginson 

WRITERS ON POLITICAL AND SOCLAL ECONOMY 472 

Richard T. Ely, F. H. Giddings, N. P. Oilman, 
Henry George 

RECENT AMERICAN POETS 477 

POPULAR POEMS OF TO-DAY 478-488 

MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES 489-523 

Selected from the Greatest American Authors 
FOR Private Readings and Recitations 

THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY ... 524 

20 



AC KNO WLEDGMENTS. 



Our obligation to the following publishers is respectfully and gratefully acknowledged, since, without 
the courtesies and assistance of these publishers and a number of the living authors, it would have been 
impossible to issue this volume. 

Copyright selections from the following authors are used by the permission of and special arrangement 
with MESSRS. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN <& CO., their authorized publishers :— Ralph Waldo Emerson, . 
Henry W. Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Bret Harte, Charles Egbert Craddock I 
(Miss Murfree), Alice Gary, Phoebe Cary, Charles Dudley Warner, E. C. Stedman, James Parton, and Sarah 1 
Jane Lippincott. 

TO THE CENTURY CO., we are indebted for selections from Richard Watson Gilder and James ■ 
Whitcomb Riley. 

TO CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, for extracts from Eugene Field. 

TO HARPER tt- BROTHERS, for selections from Will Carleton, General Lew Wallace, W. D. 
Howells, and John L. Motley. 

TO ROBERTS BROTHERS, for selections from Edward Everett Hale, Helen Hunt Jackson, 
Louise Chandler Moulton and Louisa M. Alcott. 

TO ORANGE, JUDD & CO., for extracts from Edward Eggleston. 

TO DODD, MEAD & CO., for selections from Marion Harland (Mrs. Terhune) and Amelia E. Barr. 

TO D. APPLETON & CO., for William Cullen Bryant. 

TO FUNK & WAGNALLS, for Josiah Allen's Wife (Miss Holley). 

TO LEE & SHEPARD, for Yawcob Strauss (Charles Follen Adams) and Oliver Optic (William T. 
Adams). 

TO J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., for Bill Nye (Edgar Wilson Nye). 

TO GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, for Uncle Remus (Joel C. Harris). 

TO PORTER A COATES, for Edward Ellis and Horatio Alger. 

TO T. B. PETERSON & BROS., for F. H. Burnett. 

Besides the above, we are under special obligation to a number of authors, who kindly furnished, in 
answer to our request, selections which they considered representative of their writings. 



^} I U I |M |I IM II II» l l"I I III II M III III III U I| IIU»M i nM I I»|]MUIIII | l l l l »U II UUI I»IIIHIIU|UUI|iMI|»lui^^ 



If ♦ ♦ 



♦ ♦ ♦; 



♦ ♦ 



^.■.■♦.■■■^♦./■■■♦■.■■^^■■■■f:;..^ft..,.t.....t»H\t.r.»t,i.i.t.n..tiniitihliTihniriim^^^^^ 



.mi»1miffliriiiitiiiiiiftiiiini1i<<iiiiihitiiniiii<iiiinininiiiiiiiuj 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



THE POET OF NATURE. 




T is said that "genius always manifests itself before its possessor 
reaches manhood." Perhaps in no case is this more true than in 
that of the poet, and William Cullen Bryant was no exception to 
the general rule. The poetical fancy was early displayed in him. 
He began to write verses at nine, and at ten composed a little 
poem to be spoken at a public school, which was published in a 
newspaper. At fourteen a collection of his poems was published in 12 mo. form 
by E. G. House of Boston. Strange to say the longest one of these, entitled 
"The Embargo" was political in its character setting forth his reflections on the 
Anti-Jeffersoniau Federalism prevalent in New England at that time. But it 
is said that never after that effort did the poet employ his muse upon the politics 
of the day, though the general topics of liberty and independence have given occa- 
sion to some of his finest efforts. Bryant was a great lover of nature. In the 
Juvenile Collection above referred to were published an "Ode to Connecticut 
River" and also the lines entitled " Drought" which show the characteristic ob- 
servation as well as the style in which his youthful muse found expression. It 
was written July, 1807, when the author was thirteen years of age, and will be found 
among the succeeding selections. 

" Thanatopsis," one of his most popular poems, (though he himself marked it 
low) was written when the poet was but little more than eighteen years of age. This 
production is called the beginning of American poetry. 

William Cullen Bryant was born at Cummington, Hampshire Co., Mass., 
November 3rd, 1794. His father was a physician, and a man of literary culture 
who encouraged his son's early ability, and taught him the value of correctness and 
compression, and enabled him to distinguish between true poetic enthusiasm and the 
bombast into which young poets are apt to fall. The feeling and reverence with 
which Bryant cherished the memory of his father whose life was 

" Marked with some act of goodness every day," 

is touchingly alluded to in sevel-al of his poems and directly spoken of with pathetic 
eloquence in the " Hymn to Death" written in 1825: 



Alas 1 I little thought that the stem power 
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus 



307 



3oS \y^ILLIAM CULLEN BRYAITr. 

Before the strain was ended. It must cease — 

For he is in his grave who taught my youth 

The art of verse, and in the bud of life 

OfiFered me to the Muses. Oh, cut oflF 

Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength. 

Ripened by years of toil and studious search 

And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught 

Thy hand to practise best the lenient art 

To which thou gavest thy laborious days, 

And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth 

Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes, 

And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skiU 

Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale 

When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou 

Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have 

To offer at thy grave — this — and the hope 

To copy thy example. 

Bryant was educated at Williams College, but left with an honorable discharge 
before graduation to take up the study of law, which he practiced one year at Plain- 
field and nine years at Great Barrington, but in 1825 he abandoned law for litera- 
ture, and removed to New York where in 1826 he began to edit the " Evening 
Post," which position he continued to occupy from that time until the day of his 
death. William Cullen Bryant and the " Evening Post" were almost as conspicuous 
and permanent features of the city as the Battery and Trinity Church. 

In 1821 Mr. Bryant married Frances Fairchild, the loveliness of whose charac- 
ter is hinted in some of his sweetest productions. The one beginning 

" fairest of the rural maids," 

was written some years before their marriage; and "The Future Life," one of tbe 
noblest and most pathetic of his poems, is addressed to her: — 

" In meadows fanned by Heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere 
And larger movements of the unfettered mind. 
Wilt thou foi^et the love that joined us here ? 

«' Will not thy own meek heart demand me there, — 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 
And wilt tb"*! never utter it in heaven ? 

Among his best-known poems are " A Forest Hymn," " The Death of the 
Flowers," " Lines to a Waterfowl," and " The Planting of the Apple-Tree." One 
of the greatest of his works, though not among the most popular, is his translation 
of Homer, which he completed when seventy-seven years of age. 

Bryant had a marvellous memory. His familiarity with the English poets was 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 3^9 

guch that when at sea, where he was always too ill to read much, he would beguile 
the time by reciting page after page from favorite authors. However long the 
voyage, he never exhausted his resources. " I once proposed," says a friend, " to 
gend for a copy of a magazine in which a new poem of his was announced to appear. 
'You need not send for it,' said he, 'I can give it to you.' 'Then you have a copy 
■with you?' said I. ' No,' he replied, ' but I can recall it,' and thereupon proceeded 
immediately to write it out. I congratulated him upon having such a faithful 
memory. ' If allowed a little time,' he replied, ' I could recall every line of poetry 
I have ever written.' " 

His tenderness of the feelings of others, and his earnest desire always to avoid the 
giving of unnecessary pain, were very marked. " Soon after I began to do the 
duties of literary editor," writes an associate, "Mr. Bryant, who was reading a 
review of a little book of wretchedly halting verse, said to me : 'I wish you would 
deal very gently with poets, especially the weaker ones.' " 

Bryant was a man of very striking appearance, especially in age. " It is a fine 
sight," says one writer, " to see a man full of years, clear in mind, sober in judg- 

tpjsnt, refined in taste, and handsome in person I remember once to have 

been at a lecture where Mr. Bryant sat several seats in front of me, and his finely- 
eized head was especially noticeable .... The observer of Bryant's capacious 
skull and most refined expression of face cannot fail to read therein the history of 
a noble manhood." 

The grand old veteran of verse died in New York in 1878 at the age of eighty- 
four, universally known and honored. He was in his sixth year when George 
Washington died, and lived under the administration of twenty presidents and had 
seen his own writings in print for seventy years. During this long life--— though editor 
for fifty years of a political daily paper, and continually before the public — he had 
kept his reputation unspotted from the world, as if he had, throughout the decades, 
continually before his mind the admonition of the closing lines of " Thanatopsis" 
written by himself seventy years before. 



-^:'^- 



3IO 



WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT. 



THANATOPSIS* 

The following production is called the beginning of American poetry. 

Tliat a young man not yet 19 should have produced a poem so lofty in conception, so full of chaste lan- 
guage and delicate and striking imagery, and, above all, so pervaded by a noble and cheerful religious 
philosophy, may well be regarded as one of the most remarkable examples of early maturity in literary 
history. 




jjO him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she 

speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice. — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mis forever with the elements. 
To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings, 
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun. — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness hetween ; 
The Tenerable woods, — rivers that move 



In majesty, and the complaining brooks 

That make the meadows green ; and, pour'd round all, 

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death. 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 

Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands. 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 

Save its own dashings, — yet — the dead are there, 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 

The flight of years began, have laid them down 

In their last sleep, — the dead reign there alone. 

So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 

In silence from the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 

His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glides away, the sons of men — 

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron and maid. 

And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man — 

Shall, one by one, be gather'd to thy side. 

By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live that, when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scoui^ed to his dungeon ; but, sustain'd and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 




ESIDES the massive gateway built up in 
years gone by. 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal 
shadow lie. 



While streams the evening sunshine on the quiet 

wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for 

me. 



* The following copyrighted selections from Wm. CuUen Bryant are inserted by permission of D. AppUton k Co., the pub 
Ushers of his works. 



WILLIAM CULLBN BRYANT. 



311 



The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze's flight, 
A soft soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night ; 
I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow descant 

more, 
And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of 
day is o'er. 

Behold the portals open and o'er the threshold, now, 
There steps a wearied one with pale and furrowed 

brow; 
His count of years is full, his alloted task is wrought ; 
He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. 

In sadness, then, I ponder how quickly fleets the 

hour 
Of human strength and action, man's courage and 

his power. 
I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the 

golden day, 
And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing throws 
A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes ; 
A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair, 
Moves wonderfully away from amid the young and 
fair. 

Oh, glory of our race that so suddenly decays ! 

Oh, crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we 

gaze ! 
Oh, breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air 
Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we know not 

where. 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and 
then withdrawn ; 



But still the sun shines round me ; the evening birds 

sing on ; 
And I again am soothed, and beside the ancient gate. 
In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and 
wait. 

Once more the gates are opened, an infant group go 

out. 
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the 

sprightly shout. 
Oh, fraU, frail tree of life, that upon the greensward 

strews 
Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that 

blows I 

So from every region, so enter side by side. 

The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of 

pride, 
Steps of earth's greatest, mightiest, between those 

pillars gray. 
And prints of little feet, that mark the dust away. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks are 
blank with fear, 

And some whose temples brighten with joy are draw- 
ing near. 

As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious 
eye _ 

Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. 

I mark the joy, the terrors ; yet these, within my 

heart. 
Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to 

depart ; 
And, in the sunshine streaming of quiet wood and lea, 
I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for me. 



« BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." 




DEEM not they are blest alone 

Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 

The Power who pities man has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 



The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night ; 

And grief may bide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light. 



And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, 
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart. 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though with a pierced and bleeding heart, 
And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day, 
And numbered every secret tear. 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 



312 



WTLLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 




JERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled 
pines, 
That stream with gray-green mosses ; here 

the ground 

Was never touch'd by spade, and flowere 
spring up 
Unsown, and die ungatherd. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass 
A fragrance from the cedars thickly set 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
Wy thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of Liberty. 

O Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs. 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Roman master crown'd his slave, 
When he took off the gyves. A bi^irded man, 
Arm'd to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow. 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong and struggUng. t'ower at thee has 

launch'd 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; 
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. 
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep. 
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires. 
Have forged thy chain ; yet while he deems thee 

bound. 
The links are shiver'd, and the prison walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
As springs the flame above a burning pile, 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 
Thy birth-right was not given by human hands : 



Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields 

While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 

To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 

And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 

Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 

Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 

His only foes : and thou with him didst draw 

The earliest furrows on the mountain side, 

Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, 

The enemy, although of reverend look. 

Hoary with many years, and far obey'd. 

Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 

The grave defiance of thine elder eye, 

The usurjier trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years 
But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
Feebler, yet subtler ; he shall weave his snares. 
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 
His wither'd hands, and from their ambush csJl 
His hordes to fall upon thee. lie shall send 
Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, 
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 
To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, 
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on 

thread. 
That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 
With chains conceal'd in chaplets. Oh ! not yet 
Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by 
Thy sword, nor yet, Freedom ! close thy lids 
In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
And thou must watch and combat, till the day 
Of the new JIarth and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest 
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, 
These old and friendly solitudes invite 
Thy visit. They, whUe yet the forest trees 
Were young upon the unviolated earth. 
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



TO A WATERFOWL. 




HITHER, 'midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps 

of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou 
pursue 
Thy solitary way? 



Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly limn'd upon the crimson sky, 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 



Or where the rocking billows rise and mnk 
On the chafed ocean side ? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
The desert and illimitable air, — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fann'd. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy shelter'd nest. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 



)i3 



Thou'rt gone ; the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallow'd up thy form ; yet on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 



He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky fhy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 




ERRILY swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling hi;j name : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Unk, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Ghee, chee, chee. 

Bobert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Look what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Bobert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life. 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings, 
Bob-o'-link. bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers, while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she. 

One weak chirp is "her only note, 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 
Pouring boasts from his little throat : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
CatcL me, cowardly knaves if you can. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell 

Six wide mouths are open for food ; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seed for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-Knk, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work and silent with care; 
Ofi" is his holiday garment laid, 
Half-forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o' link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Pun and frolic no more he knows; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; 
Ofi' he flies, and we sing as he goes: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain. 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 




DROUGHT. 



LUNGED amid the limpid waters. 
Or the cooling shade beneath, 
Let me fly the scorching sunbeams, 
And the «outhwind'a sickly breach 1 



Sirius burns the parching meadows, 
Flames upon the embrowning hill. 
Dries the foliage of the forest. 
And evaporates the rilL 



314 



WILLIAM CULLEN BETAliT. 



Scarce is seen the lonely floweret, 
Save amid the embowering wood ; 
O'er the prospect dim and dreary, 
Drought presides in sullen mood ! 

Murky vapours hung in ether, 
Wrap in gloom, the sky serene ; 



Nature pants distressful — silence 
Reigns o'er all the sultry scene. 

Then amid the limpid waters, 
Or beneath the cooUng shade. 
Let me shun the scorching sunbeams 
And the sickly breeze evade. 



THE PAST. 

No poet, perhaps, in the world is so exquisite in rhythm, or classically pure and accurate in language, so 
•ppropriate in diction, phrase or metaphor as Bryant. 

He dips his pen in words as an inspired painter his pencil in colors. The following poem is a fair specimen 
of his deep vein in his chosen serious themes. Pathos is pre-eminently his endowment but the tinge of 
melancholy in his treatment is always pleasing. 




HOU unrelenting Past ! 

Strong are the barriers round thy dark 
domain, 
And fetters, sure and fast. 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Far in thy realm withdrawn 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom. 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth, 
Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground, 

And, last, Man's Life on earth. 
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years. 
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind, 

Yielded to thee with tears, — 
The venerable form — the exalted mind. 

My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back ; — yearns with desire intense, 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 

In vain : — thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart ; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou giv'st them back, — nor to the broken heart. 

In thy abysses hide 
Beauty and excellence unknown : — to thee 

Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gather'd, as the waters to the sea ; 



Labors of good to man, 
Unpublish'd charity, unbroken faith, — 

Love, that midst grief began. 
And grew with years, and falter'd not in death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unutter'd, unrevered ; 

With thee are silent fame. 
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappear'd. 

Thine for a space are they : — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; 

Thy gates shall yet give way. 
Thy bo'lts shall fall, inexorable Past ! 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 

Shall then come forth, to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perish'd — no ! 
Kind words, remember'd voices once so sweet, 

Smiles, radiant long ago, 
And features, the great soid's apparent seat, 

All shall come back ; each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again; 

Alone shall Evil die. 
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him by who.se kind paternal side I sprung, 

And her who, stiU and cold. 
Fills the next grave, — the beautiful and young. 




HEN spring, to woods and wastes around, 
Brought bloom and joy again ; 
The murdered traveler's bones were found, 
Far down a narrow glen. 



THE MURDERED TRAVELER. 

The fragrant birch, above him, hung 
Her tassels in the sky ; 

And many a vernal blossom sprung, 
And nodded careless by. 



WILLIAM CTJLLEN BRYANT. 



315 



The red bird warbled, as he wrought 
His hanging nest o'erhead ; 

And fearless, near the fatal spot, 
Her young the partridge led. 

But there was weeping far away, 

And gentle eyes, for him, 
With watching many an anxious day, 

Were sorrowful and dim. 

They Uttle knew, who loved him so, 

The fearful death he met, 
When shouting o'er the desert snow. 

Unarmed and hard beset ; 

Nor how, when round the frosty pole, 
The northern dawn was red, 



The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole 
To banquet on the dead ; 

Nor how, when strangers found his bones, 

They dressed the hasty bier, 
And marked his grave with nameless stones, 

Unmoistened by a tear. 

But long they looked, and feared, and wept, 

Within his distant home ; 
And dreamed, and started as they slept. 

For joy that he was come. 

Long, long they looked — but never spied 

His welcome step again. 
Nor knew the fearful death he died 

Far down that narrow glen. 



THE BATTLEFIELD. 

Soon after the following poem was written, an English critic, referring to the stanza begining— "Truth 
crushed to earth shall rise again,"— said : "Mr. Bryant has certainly a rare merit for having written a stanza 
which will bear comparison with any four lines as one of the noblest in the English language. The thought 
is complete, the expression perfect. A poem of a dozen such verses would be like a row of pearls, each 
beyond a king's ransom." 




NCE this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 
And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encounter'd in the battle-cloud. 



Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gush'd the life-blood of her brave, — 
Gush'd, warm with hope and courage yet, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still, 

Alone the chirp of ilitting bird. 
And talk of children on the hill. 

And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouth'd gun and staggering wun; 
Men start not at the battle-cry: 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now, 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Through weary day aad weary year ; 



A wild and many-weapon'd throng 

Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
And blench not at thy chosen lot; 

The timid good may stand alool, 

The sage may frown — yet faint thou notj 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last. 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crush'd to earth, shall rise again ; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain. 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, 
When they who help'd thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust. 
Like those who fell in battle here. 

Another hand thy sword shall wield. 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is peal'd 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 



==^ 



^= 



.-i-. .i-. .-I-, .-i-. -r. -i-. .-r. .I-. -T. .-I-. .•i-...-r.,.-l-...--r....-i-.,,.'l-,.-^--„.T.. _» 
• ^T .i-, .'!•. .I-, .i-. .I-, .'i-. .r. .I-, .-l: .t. .-r. .I-. ■■i-.-^--..--l--.-i-. .1\ Ji 



^iiiiiimiiiiiiimiiiii 



=# 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 




THE WEIRD AND MYSTERIOUS GENIUS. 

DGAR ALLEN POE, the author of " The Raven," " Annabel Lee,1 
"Tlie Haunted Palace," "To One in Paradise," " Israfel" ani 
" Lenore," was in his peculiar sphere, the most brilliant writer, per 
haps, who ever lived. His writings, however, belong to a differer 
world of thought from that in which Bryant, Longfellow, Emersor 
Whittier and Lowell lived and labored. Theirs was the realm ol 
nature, of light, of human joy, of hapjjiness, ease, hope and cheer. Poe spoke 
fi'om the dungeon of depression. He was in a constant struggle with poverty. His 
whole life was a tragedy in which sombre shades played an unceasing role, and yet 
from out these weird depths came forth things so beautiful that their very sadness 
is charming and holds us in a spell of bewitching enchantment. Edgar Fawcett 
says of him : — 

" He loved all shadowy spots, all seasons drear ; 

All ways of darkness lured his ghastly whim ; 

Strange fellowships he held with goblins grim, 
At whose demoniac eyes he felt no fear. 

By desolate paths of dream where fancy's owl 

Sent long lugubrious hoots through sombre air, 
Amid thought's gloomiest caves he went to prowl 

And met delirium in her awful lair." 

Edgar Poe was born in Boston February 19th, 1809. His father was a Mary- 
lander, as was also his grandfather, who was a distinguished Revolutionary soldier 
and a friend of General Lafayette. The parents of Poe were both actors who toured 
the country in the ordinary manner, and this perhaps accounts for his birth in 
Boston. Their home was in Baltimore, Maryland. 

When Poe was only a few years old both parents died, within two weeks, in 
Richmond, Virginia. Their three children, two daughters, one older and one 
younger than the subject of this sketch, were all adopted by friends of the family. 
Mr. John Allen, a rich tobacco merchant of Richmond, Virginia, adopted Edgar 
(who was henceforth called Edgar Allen Poe), and had him carefully educated, first 
in England, afterwards at the Richmond Academy and the University of Virginia, 
3i6 




poe's I'aSi- h)oroe, 



I 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. O^? 

and subsequently at West Point. He always distinguisherl himself in his studies, 
but from West Point he was dismissed after one year, it is said because he refused to 
submit to the discipline of the institution. 

In common with the custom in the University of Vir<i;inia at that time, Poe 
acquired the habits of drinking and gambling, and the gambling ilebts which he 
contracted incensed Mr. Allen, who refused to pay them. Tliis brought on the 
beginning of a series of quarrels which finally led to Poe's disinheritance and per- 
manent separation from his benefactor. Tlius tui'ned out upon the cold, unsympa- 
thetic world, without business training, without friends, without money, knowing 
not how to make money — yet, with a proud, imperious, aristocratic nature, — we have 
the beginning of the saddest story of any life in literature — struggling for nearly 
twenty years in globm and poverty, with here and there a ray of sunshine, and 
closing with delirium tremens in Baltimore, October 7th, 1849, at forty years of age. 

To those who know the full details of the sad story of Poe's life it is little wonder 
that his sensitive, passionate nature sought surcease from disappointment in the 
nepenthe of the intoxicating cup. It was but natural foi' a man of his nervous 
temperament and delicacy of feeling to fall into that melancholy moroseness which 
would chide even the angels for taking away his beautiful " Annabel Lee;" or that 
he should wail over the " Lost Lenore," or declare that his soul should "nevermore" 
be lifted from the shadow of the " Raven" upon the floor. These poems and others 
are but the expressions of disappointment and despair of a soul alienated from 
happy human relations. While we admire their power and beauty, we should 
remember at what cost of pain and suffering and disappointment they were produced. 
They are powerful illustrations of the prodigal expense of human strength, of 
broken hopes and bitter experiences through which rare specimens of our litei-ature 
are often gi-own. 

To treat the life of Edgar Allen Poe, with its lessons, fully, would require the 
scope of a volume. Both as a man and an author there is a sad fascination which 
belongs to no other writer, perhaps, in the world. His personal character has been 
represented as pronouncedly double. It is said that Stevenson, who was a great 
admirer of Poe, received the inspiration for his novel, " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" 
from the contemplation of his double character. Paul Hamilton Hayne has also 
written a poem entitled, " Poe," which presents in a double shape the angel and 
demon in one body. The first two stanzas of which we quote ; — 

" Two mighty spirits dwelt in him ; 
One, a wild demon, weird and dim, 
The darkness of whose ebon wings 
Did shroud unutterable things ; 
One, a fair angel, in the skies 
Of whose serene, unshadowed eyes 
Were seen the lights of Paradise. 

To these, in turn, he gave the whole 
Vast empire of his brooding soul ; 
Now, filled with strains of heavenly swell, 
Now thrilled with awful tones of hell : 
Wide were his being's strange extremes. 
'Twixt nether glooms, and Eden gleamj 
Of tender, or majestic dreams." 



3^8 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 



It must be said in justice to Poe's memory, however, that the above idea of hia 
being both demon and angel became prevalent through the first biography pub- 
lished of him, by Dr. Rufus Griswold, who no doubt sought to avenge himself on 
the dead poet for the severe but unanswerable criticisms which the latter had 
passed upon his and other contemporaneous authors' writings. Later biographies, 
notably those of J. H. Ingram and Mrs. Sarah Ellen Whitman, as well as pub- 
lished statements from his business associates, have disproved many of Griswold's 
damaging statements, and placed the private character of Poe in a far more favor- 
able light before the world. He left off gambling in his youth, and the appetite 
for drink, which followed him to the close of his life, was no doubt inherited from 
his father who, before him, was a drunkard. 

It is natural for admirers of Poe's genius to contemplate with regret akin to sor- 
row those circumstances and characteristics which made him so unhappy, and yet 
the serious question arises, was not that character and his unhappy life necessary to 
the productions of his marvelous pen ? Let us suppose it was, and in charity draw 
the mantle of forgetfulness over his misguided ways, covering the sad picture of his 
personal life from view, and hang in its place the matchless portrait of his splendid 
genius, before which, with true American pride, we may summon all the world to 
stand with uncovered heads. 

As a writer of short stories Poe had no equal in America. He is said to have 
been the originator of the modern detective story. The artful ingenuity with which 
he works up the details of his plot, and minute attention to the smallest illustrative 
particular, give his tales a vivid interest from which no reader can escape. His 
skill in analysis is as marked as his power of word painting. The scenes of gloom 
and terror which he loves to depict, the forms of horror to which he gives almost 
actual life, render his mastery over the reader most exciting and absorbing. 

As a poet Poe ranks among the most original in the world. He is pre-eminently 
a poet of the imagination. It is useless to seek in his verses for pliilosophy oi' 
preaching. He brings into his poetry all the weirdness, subtlety, artistic detail and 
facility in coloring which give the charm to his prose stories, and to these he adds 
a musical flow of language which has never been equalled. To him poetry was 
music, and there was no poetry that was not musical. For poetic harmony he has 
had no equal certainly in America, if, indeed, in the world. Admirers of his poems 
are almost sure to read them over and over again, each time finding new forms of 
beauty or charm in them, and the reader abandons himself to a current of melodious 
fancy that soothes and charms like distant music at night, or the rippling of a near- 
by, but unseen, brook. The images which he creates are vague and illusive. As 
one of his biographers has written, " He heard in his dreams the tinkling footfalls 
of angels and seraphim and subordinated everything in his verse to the delicious 
eifect of musical sound." As a literary critic Poe's capacities were of the greatest. 
" In that large part of the critic's perceptions," says Duyckinck, " in knowledge of 
the mechanism of composition, he has been unsurpassed by any writer in America." 

Poe was also a fine reader and elocutionist. A writer who attended a lecture by 
him in Richmond says : " I never heard a voice so musical as his. It was full of 
the sweetest melody. No one who heard his recitation of the "Raven" will ever 
forget the beauty and pathos with which this recitation was rendered. The 



I 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 319 

audience was still as death, and as his weird, musical voice filled the hall its effect 
was simply indescribable. It seems to me that I can yet hear that long, j^laintive 
" nevermore." 

Among the labors of Poe, aside from his published volumes and contributions to 
miscellaneous magazines, should be mentioned his various positions from 1834 to 1848 
as critic and editor on the " Literary Messenger " of Richmond, Virginia, the 
"Gentleman's Magazine" of Philadelphia, " Graham's Magazine" of Philadelphia, 
the " Evening Mirror" of New York, and the " Broadway Journal" of New York, 
which positions he successively held. The last he gave up in 1848 with the idea of 
starting a literary magazine of his own, but the project failed, perhaps on account 
of his death, which occurred the next year. His first volume of poems was pub- 
lished in 1829. In 1833 he won two prizes, one for prose and one for poetic com- 
position, offered by the Baltimore "Saturday Visitor," his "Manuscript Found in 
a Bottle" being awarded the prize for prose and the poem "The Coliseum" for 
poetry. The latter, however, he did not recieve because the judges found the same 
author had won them both. In 1838 Harper Brothers published his ingenious 
fiction, " The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket." In 1840 " Tales 
of the Grotesque and Arabesque" were issued in Philadelphia. In 1844 he took 
up his residence at Fordham, New York, where his wife died in 1847, and where he 
continued to reside for the balance of his life. His famous poem the " Raven" was 
published in 1845, and during 1848 and 1849 he published "Eureka" and 
" Ulalume," the former being a prose poem. It is the crowning work of his life, to 
which he devoted the last and most matured energies of his wonderful intellect. 
To those who desire a further insight into the character of the man and his labors 
we would recommend the reading of J. H. Ingram's "Memoir" and Mrs. Sarah 
Ellen Whitman's " Edgar Poe and His Critics," the latter published in 1863. 



320 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 



LENORE. 

Mrs. Whitman, in her reminiscences of Poe, tells us the following incident which gave rise to the writinp 
of these touching lines. While Poe was in the Academy at Richmond, Virginia, — as yet a boy of about 
sixteen years, — he was invited by a friend to visit his home. The mother of this friend was a singularly 
beautiful and withal a most kindly and sympathetic woman. Havins learned that Poe was an orphan she 
greeted him with the motherly tenderness and affection shown toward her own son. The boy was so over- 
come that it is said he stood for a niiuute unable to speak and finally with tears he declared he had never 
before known his loss in the love of a true and devoted mother. From that time forward he was frequently 
a visitor, and the attachment between him and this kind-hearted woman continued to grow. On Poe's 
return from Europe when he was about twenty years of age, he learned that she had died a few days before 
his arrival, and was so overcome with grief that he went nightly to her grave, even when it was dark and 
rainy, spending hours in fancied communion with her spirit. Later he idealized in his musings the embodi- 
ment of such a spirit in a young and beautiful woman, whom he made his lover and whose untimely death 
he imagined and used as the inspiration of this poem. 




H, broken is the golden bowl, 
The spirit flown forever 1 
Let the bell toll ! 
A saintly soul 
Floats on the Stygian river ; 
And, Guy de Verb, 
Hast thou no tear ? 

Weep now or never more ! 
See, on yon drear 
And rigid bier 

Low lies thy love, Lenore ! 
Come, let the burial-rite be read — 

The funeral-song be sung ! — 
An anthem fur the queenliest dead 

That ever died so young — 

A dirge for her the doubly dead, 

In that she died so young ! 

" Wretches ! ye loved her for her wealth, 

And hated her for her pride ; 
And when she fell in feeble health, 

Ye bles.s'd her — that she died ! 
How shall the ritual, then, be read? 

The rei|uiem how be suns: 
By you — by yours, the evil eye — 

By yours the slanderous tongue 
That did to death the innocence 

That died, and died so young? " 

Peccnvinuis ; 

But rave not thus ! 

And let a sabbath song 

Go up to God so solemnly, the dead may teel no 
wrong! 



The sweet Lenore 
Hath " gone before," 

With Hope, that flew beside. 
Leaving thee wild 
For the dear child 

That should have been thy bride — 
For her, the fair 
And debonair, 

That now so lowly lies, 
The life upon her yellow hair 

But not within her eyes — 
The life still there. 
Upon her hair — 

The death upon her eyes. 

" Avaunt ! to-night 
My heart is Hght. 

No dirge will I upraise, 
But waft the angel on her flight 

With a paean of old days ! 
Let no bell toll ! — 
Lest her sweet soul, 

Amid its hallow'd mirth, 
Should catch the note. 
As it doth float — 

Up from the damned earth. 
To friends above, from fiends below, 

The indignant ghost is riven — 
From hell unto a high estate 

Far up within the heaven — 
From grief and ffroan. 
To a golden throne. 

Beside the King of Heaven." 



THE BELLS. 

This selection is a favorite with reciters. It is an excellent piece for voice culture. The musical flow of 
the metre and happy selection of the words make it possible for the skilled speaker to closely imitate the 
sounds of the rinsing bells. 




EAR the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells 1 
What a world of merriment their melody 
foretells ! 



How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 



321 



With a crystalline delight ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rh3'me. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
Golden bells ! 
WTiat a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, 
And all in tune, 
Wh^t a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that Ustens, while she gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells. 

On the future ! how it tells 

Of the rapture that impels 

To the swinaing and the ringing 

Of the bellsT bells, bells,— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 

Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their afiright 1 
Too much horrified to speak. 
They can only shriek, shriek. 
Out of tune. 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic tire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor. 
Now — now to sit or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair ! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging. 
And the clanging. 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 

21 



Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangUng, 
How the danger sinks and swells. 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the 
bells— 
Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody 
compels ! 
In the silence of the night, 
How we shiver with affright. 
At the melancholy menace of their tone I 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone. 
And who tolUng, tolling, tolling. 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 
On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — = 

They are ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, roUs. rolls, rolls, 

A paean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the pjean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time. time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the ppean of the belb— 
Of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells — ■ 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
As he knells, knells, knells. 

In a hajjpy Runic rhyme. 
To the rolling of the bells. — 
Of the bells, bells, bells,— 
To the tolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, beUs, bells,— 

Bells, bells, bells,— 
To the moaning and the groaning of the beUs. 



1.22 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 
THE RAVEN. 



This poem is generally allowed to be one of the most remarkable examples of a harmony of sentiment 
•with rhythmical expression to be found in any language. While the poet sits musing in his study, endeavor- 
ing to win from books "surcease of sorrow for the lost Lenore," a raven — the symbol of despair — enters 
the room and perches upon a bust of Pallas. A colloquy follows between the poet and the bird of ill omen 
with its haunting croak of " Nevermore.'' 




I 



THE RAVEN. 




NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon- 
dered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume 
of forgotton lore, — 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 
there came a tapping, 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 
my chamber-door. 

" 'Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, " tapping 
at my chamber-door — 

Only this and nothing more." 



Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak De- 
cember, 



And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 

upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought 

to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the 

lost Lenore, — 
For the rare and raidant maiden whom the angel* 

name Lenore, — 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 

curtain. 
Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors never 

felt before: 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 



323 



So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 
repeating, 

" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at luy chamber- 
door, — 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
door ; 

That it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no 

longer, 
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I 

implore ; 
But the lact is, I was napping, and so gently you 

came rapping. 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my 

chamber-door. 
That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I opened 

wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, 

wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 

dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 

no token. 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered 

word. " Lenore ! " 
This / whispered, and an echo murmured back the 

word, '■ Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within 

me burning. 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 

before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my 

window-lattice ; 
Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery 

explore. — 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery 

explore ; — 

Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a 

flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days 

of yore. 
Not the least obeisance maae ne ; not a minute 

stopped or stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my 

chamber-door, — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just abov^ my cham 

ber-door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into 
smiling, 



By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance 
it wore, 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," 1 
said, " art sure no craven ; 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 
nightly shore. 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plu- 
tonian shore ? " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 

so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy 

bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human 

being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his 

chamber-door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his 

chamber-door 

With such name as " Nevermore ! " 

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke 

only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then 

he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends 

have flown before, 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 

flown before. 

Then the bird said, '• Nevermore ! " 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly 

spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock 

and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 

disaster 
Follow'd fast and foUow'd faster, till his songs one 

burden bore. 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden 

bore, 

Of — ' Never — nevermore ! ' " 

But the raven still oeguiling all my sad soul into 
smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned "seat in front of bird 
and bust and door. 

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to 
linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird 
of yore — 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omi- 
nous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore 1 " 



324 



EDGAR ALLEN POE. 



This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- 
pressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my 
bosom's core ; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease 
reclining 

On the cushion's velvet Uning that the lamp-light 
gloated o'er. 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light 
gloating o'er 

She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from 

an unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the 

tufted floor, 
" Wretch," I cried, " thy Grod hath lent thee, — by 

these angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 

Lenore 1 
QuaflF, oh, quafi' this kind nepenthe, and forget the 

lost Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

Prophet ! " cried I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed 
thee here ashore. 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted — 

On this home by horror haunted — ^tell me truly, I 
implore, — 

Is there — is there balm in GUead ? — tell me — tell 
me, I implore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore 1 " 



'' Prophet ! " cried I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 

bird or de^il ! 
By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we 

both adore, 
Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant 

Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels 

name Lenore ; 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels 

name Lenore !" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore I " 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I 

shrieked, upstarting, — 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the night's 

Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul 

hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above 

my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 

from off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 
sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that 
is dreaming, 

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his 
shadow on the floor ; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 
on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



-^^w 



^ 



^^^fY 







^ffff^ 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



THE POET OF THE PEOPLE. 



"He who sung to one clear harp in divers tones." 




N an old square wooden house upon the edge of the sea" the most 
famous and most widely read of all American poets was born in 
Portland, Maine, February 7th, 1807. 

In his personality, his wide range of themes, his learning and hia 
wonderful power of telling stories in song, Henry Wadsworth 
Longfellow stood in his day and still stands easily in front of all 
other poets who have enriched American literature. Admitting that he was not 
rugged and elemental like Bryant and did not possess the latter's feelings for 
the colossal features of wild scenery, that he was not profoundly thoughtful 
and transcendental like Emerson, that he was not so earnestly and passionately 
sympathetic as AVhittier, nevertheless he was our first artist in poetry. Bryant, 
Emerson and Whittier commanded but a few stops of the grand instrument 
upon which they played ; Longfellow understood perfectly all its capabilities. 
Critics also say that " he had not the high ideality or dramatic power of 
Tennyson or Browning." But does he not hold something else which to the world 
at large is perhaps more valuable ? Certainly these two great poets are inferior to 
him in the power to sweep the chords of daily human experiences and call forth the 
sweetness and beauty in common-place every day human life. It is on these themes 
that he tuned his harp without ever a false tone, and sang with a harmony so well nigh 
perfect that the universal heart responded to his music. This common-place song 
has found a lodgement in every household in America, " swaying the hearts of men 
and women whose sorrows have been soothed and whose lives raised by his gentle 
verse." 

" Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 

And come like the henediction 

That follows afPer prayer." 

Longfellow's life from the very beginning moved on even lines. Both he and 
William Cullen Bryant were descendants of John Alden, whom Longfellow has 
made famous in " The Courtship of Miles Standish." The Longfellows were a 
familv in comfortable circumstances, peaceful and honest, for many generations back. 

325 



326 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



The poet went to school with Nathaniel P. Willis and other boys who at an early 
age were thinking more of verse making than of pleasure. He graduated at Bow- 
doin College in 1825 with Nathaniel Hawthorne, John S. C. Abbott, and others 
who afterwards attained to fame. Almost immediately after his graduation he was 
requested to take the chair of Modern Languages and Literature in his alma mater , 
which he accepted ; but before entering u]3on his duties spent three years in Ger- 
many, France, Spain and Italy to further perfect himself in the languages and 
literature of those nations. At Bowdoin College Longfellow remained as Professor 
of Modern Languages and Literature until 1885, when he accepted a similar posi- 
tion in Harvard University, which he continued to occupy until 1854, when he 




\ 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 
Scene of Longfellow's Famous "Tales of the Waj/fiide Inn" 

resigned, devoting the remainder of his life to literary work and to the enjoyment 
of tlie association of such friends as Charles Sumner the statesman, Hawthorne the 
romancer, Louis Agassiz the great naturalist, and James Russell Lowell, the brother 
poet who succeeded to the chair of Longfellow in Harvard University on the latter's 
resignation. 

The home of Longfellow was not only a delightful place to visit on account of 
the cordial welcome extended by the companionable poet, but for its historic asso- 
ciations as well; for it was none other than the old " Cragie House" which had 
been Washington's headquarters during the Revolutionary War, the past tradition 
and recent hospitality of which have Deen well told by G. W. Curtis in his " Homes 
of American Authors." It was here that Longfellow surrounded himself with a 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



327 



magnificent library, and within these walls he composed all of hts famous produc- 
tions from 1839 until his death, which occurred there in 1882 at the age of seventy- 
five. The poet was twice married and was one of the most domestic of men. His 
first wife died suddenly in Europe during their sojourn in that country while Long- 
fellow was pursuing his post graduate course of study before taking the chair in Bow- 
doin College. In 184o he married Miss Frances Appleton, whom he had met in 
Europe and who figures in the pages of his romance "Hyperion." In 1861 she met 
a most tragic death by stepping on a match which set fire to her clothing, causing 
injuries from which she died. She was buried on the 19th anniversary of their mar- 
riage. By Longfellow's own direction she was crowned with a wreath of orange 
blossoms commemorative of the day. The poet was so stricken with grief that for 
a year afterwards he did practically no work, and it is said neither in conversation 
nor in writing to his most intimate friends could he bear td refer to the sad event. 

Longfellow was one of the most bookish men in our literature. His knowledge 
of others' thoughts and writings was so great that he became, instead of a creator in 
his poems, a painter of things already created. It is said that he never even owned 
a style of his own like Bryant and Poe, but assimilated what he saw or heard or 
read from books, reclothing it and sending it out again. This does not intimate 
that he was a plagiarist, but that he wrote out of the accumulated knowledge of 
others. "Evangeline," for instance, was given him by Hawthorne, who had heard 
of the young people of Acadia and kept them in mind, intending to weave them into 
a romance. The forcible deportation of 18,000 French people touched Hawthorne 
as it perhaps never could have touched Longfellow except in literature, and also as 
it certainly never would have touched the world had not Longfellow woven the 
woof of the story in the threads of his song. 

"Evangeline" was brought out the same year with Tennyson's "Princess" (1847), 
and divided honors with the latter even in England. In this poem, and in "The 
Courtship of Miles Standish" and other poems, the pictures of the new world are 
brought out with charming simplicity. Though Longfellow never visited Acadia 
or Louisiana, it is the real French village of Grand Pre and the real Louisiana, not 
a poetic dream that are described in this poem. So vivid were his descriptions that 
artists in Europe painted the scenes true to nature and vied with each other in paint- 
ing the portrait of Evangeline, among several of which there is said to be so striking 
a resemblance as to suggest the idea that one had served as a copy for the others. 
The poem took such a hold upon the public, that both the poor man and the rich 
knew Longfellow as they knew not Tennyson their own poet. It was doubtless be- 
cause he, though one of the most scholarly of men, always spoke so the plainest 
reader could understand. 

In "The Tales of a Wayside Inn" (1863), the characters were not fictions, but 
real persons. The musician was none other than the famous violinist, Ole Bull ; 
Professor Luigi ]Monte, a close friend who dined every Sunday with Longfellow, was 
the Sicilian; Dr. Henry Wales was the youth; i\\& poet was Thomas W. Parsons, 
and the theologiaii was his brother. Rev. S. W. Longfellow. This poem shows 
Longfellow at his best as a story teller, while the stories which are put into the 
mouth of these actual characters perhaps could have been written by no other liv- 
ing man, for they are from the literature of all countries, with which Longfellow was 
so familiar. 



328 



HENEY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



Thus, both "The Tales of a Wayside Inn " and "Evangeline" — as many other of 
Longfellow's poems — may be called compilations or rewritten stories, rather than 
creations, and it was these characteristics of his writings which Poe and Margaret 
Fuller, and others, who considered the realm of poetry to belong purely to the 
imagination rather than the real world, so bitterly criticised. While they did not 
deny to Longfellow a poetic genius, they thought he was prostituting it by forcing 
it to drudge in the province of prosaic subjects ; and for this reason Poe predicted 
that he would not live in literature. 

It was but natural that Longfellow should write as he did. For thirty-five years 
he was an instructor in institutions of learning, and as such believed that poetry 
should be a thing of use as well as beauty. He could not agree with Poe that 
poetry was like music, only a pleasurable art. He had the triple object of stimu- 
lating; to research and study, of impressing the mind with history or moral truths, 
and at the same time to touch and warm the heart of humanity. In all three direc- 
tions he succeeded to such an extent that he has probably been read by more people 
than any other poet except the sacred Psalmist; and despite the predictions of his 
distinguished critics to the contrary, such poems as "The Psalm of Life," (which 
Chas. Sumner allowed, to his knowledge, had saved one man from suicide), "The 
Children's Hour," and many others touching the every day experiences of the 
multitude, will find a glad echo in the souls of humanity as long as men shall read. 



THE PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 

This poem has gained wide celebrity as one of Mr. Longfellow's most popular pieces, as has also the 
poem "Excelsior," (hereafter quoted). They strike a popular chord and do some clever preaching and it 
is in this their chief merit consists. They are by no means among the author's best poetic productions from 
a critical standpoint. Both these poems were written in early life. 




ELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream ! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 



Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than today. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and Drave. 

Still, like muified drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of Life, 



Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead I 
Act, — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead I 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time ; 

Footprints, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing. 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing. 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



329 




THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

NDER a spreading chestnut tree 
The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 



His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat ; 



He earns whate'er he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face, 
For he owes not any man. 



Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell 
When the evening sun is low. 




They love to see the flami.xg forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from the threshing floor. 



And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door ; 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar. 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 
And sits among his boys ; 

He hears the parson pray and preach, 
He hears his daughter's voice, 

Singing in the village choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 



It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing — 
Onward through life he goes : 

Each morning sees some task begin. 
Each evening sees it close ; 



33° 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



Something attempted — something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 



Thus at the flaming forge of Life 
Our fortunes must be wrought, 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 



THE BRIDGE, 

A favorite haunt of Longfellow's was the bridge between Boston and Cambridge, over which he had to 
pass, almost daily. " I always stop on the bridge," he writes in his journal. "Tide waters are beautiful," and 
again, "We leaned for a while on the wooden rails and enjoyed the silvery reflections of the sea, making 
sundry comparisons." Among other thoughts, we have these cheering ones, that "The old sea was flash. 
ing with its heavenly light, though we saw it only in a single track ; the dark waves are dark provinces of 
God ; illuminous thougli not to us." 

The following poem was the result of one of Longfellow's reflections, while standing on this bridge at 
midnight. 




STOOD on the bridge at midnight. 

As the clocks were striking the hour. 
And the moon rose o'er the city. 
Behind the dark church tower; 



And like the waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thought came o'er me. 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me. 
Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 
It is buried in the sea ; 



And only the sorrow of others 
Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers. 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men. 
Each having his burden of sorrow. 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro. 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old, subdued and slow I 

And forever and forever. 

As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear. 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. 



RESIGNATION. 




HERE is no flock, however watched and 
tended, 
But one dead lamb is there ! 

There is no fireside, howsoe'r defended. 
But has one vacant chair ! 

The air is full of farewells to the dying 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying. 

Will not be comforted 1 



Let us be patient ! These severe afiSictioiu 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapon; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 



U 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



33^ 



There ia no Death ! What seema so is transition ; 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillnes and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She Hves whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
i'ear after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 
The bond which nature gives, 



Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 

Fur when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her. 

She will not be a child : 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though, at times, impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed. 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing 

The grief that must have way. 



GOD'S ACRE. 




LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 

The burial-ground God's acre ! It is just ; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls, 

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping 

dust. 



God's Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 

The seed that they had garnered in their hearts. 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast. 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 



At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan the chaff and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom. 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 

With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 

This is the field and Acre of our God ! 

This is the place where human harvests grow ! 



EXCELSIOR. 




HE shades of night were falling fast. 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device. 
Excelsior ! 



His brow was sad ; his eye beneath. 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 



Above, the spectral glaciers shone. 
And from his lips escaped a groan. 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not to Pass !" the old man said ; 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide I" 
And loud that clarion voice replied. 
Excelsior ! 

" 0, stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast !" 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 

Excelsior I > 



332 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch I 
Beware the awful avalanche !" 
This was the peasant's last Good-night • 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 



A traveler, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There, in the twOight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, Uke a falling star, 
Excelsior 1 



THE RAINY DAY. 




HE day is cold, and dark and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still dings to the mouldering wall. 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
And the day is dark and dreary. 



My life is cold, and dark, 
It rains, and the wind is 
My thoughts st^U cling to the mouldering Past, 



and dreary ; 
never weary ; 



But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast. 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all. 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark dreary. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

The writing of the following poem, " The Wreck of the Hesperus," was occasioned by the news of i 
ship-wreck on the coast near Gloucester, and by the name of a reef — "Norman's Woe" — where many 
disasters occurred. It was written one night between twelve and three o'clock, and cost the poet, it is 
said, hardly an effort. 




T was the schooner Hesperus 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little 
daughter, 
To bear him company. 



Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm. 

His pipe was in his mouth. 
And watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish main : 
" I pray thee put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see !" 

The skipper he blew a whifi' from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



Colder and colder blew the wind, 

A gale from the north-east ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so. 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" Oh father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

Oh say what may it be ? " 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast;" 

And he steered for the open sea. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



333 



•' Oh father ! 1 hear the sound of guns, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea." 

«' Oh, father ! I see a gleaming light, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? 
But the father answered never a word — 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face to the skies. 
The lantern gleamed, through the gleaming snow, 

On his fixed and glas.sy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves 

On the lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept, 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rooks and hard sea-sand. 



The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts, went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank— 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared. 

At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ; 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 




OMEWHAT back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country seat ; 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw ; 
And, from its station in the hall. 
An ancient timepiece says to all, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever " 



Half-way up the stairs it stands. 
And points and beckons with its hands, 
From its ca.se of massive oak. 
Like a monk who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

By day its voice is low and light]; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 
It echoes along the vacant hall. 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say at each chamber door, 
" Forever — never I 
Never — forever 1" 



Through days of sorrow and of mirth. 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, 

" Forever — never I 

Never — forever !" 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
That warning timepiece never ceased 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

There groups of merry children played ; 

There youths and maidens dreaming strayed j 

Oh, precious hours ! oh. golden prime 

And afliuence of love and time ! 

Even as a miser counts his gold, 

Those hours the ancient timepiece told,— 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever 1" 



334 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



From that chamber, clothed in white, 

The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 

There, in that silent room below, 

The dead lay, in his shroud of snow; 

And, in the hush that followed the prayer, 

Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

All are scattered now, and fled, — 
Some are married, some are dead : 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
" Ah 1" when shall they all meet again ? 



As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care 
And death, and time shall disappear,- 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, 

" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever !" 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

The writing of this famous ballad was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the digging up of a mail-clad 
skeleton at Fall-River, Massachusetts — a circumstance which the poet linked witli tlie traditions about the 
Round Tower at Newport, thus giving to it the spirit of a Norse Viking song of war and of the sea. It is 
written in the swift leaping meter employed by Drayton in his "Ode to the Cambro Britons on their 
Harp." 




PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest I 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
StUl in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms. 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretch'd, as if asking alms. 
Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise. 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the waters flow 
Under December's snow. 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse. 
Else dread a dead man's curse I 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the ger-falcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-hound, 
Skimm'd the half-frozen Sound. 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 



" Oft to his frozen lair 
Track 'd I the grizzly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew. 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped. 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long winter out; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Fill'd to o'erflowing. 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning out tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



335 



" I woo'd the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest'-s shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosen'd vest 
Flutter'd her little breast. 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her fathers hall 
Shields gleam'd upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I ask'd his daughter s hand, 
Mute did the minstrel stand 

To hear my story. 

"While the brown ale he quafiPd 
Loud then the champion laugh'd, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

" She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild. 
And though she blush'd and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

" Scarce had I put to sea. 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! — 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand. 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

" Then launch'd they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast. 

When the wind fail'd us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
80 that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hail'd us. 



" And as to catch the gale 
Round veer d the flapping sail, 
Death ! was the helmsman s hail, 

Death without ipiarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water. 

" As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden. 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 



" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to lee-ward ; 
There for my ladj''s bower 
Built I the lofty tower. 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking sea-ward. 

" There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maidens tears ; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies : 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

" Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sun-light hatefiJ ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear. 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 

" Thus, seam'd with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 
My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's sotJ, 
Ska!.' to the Northland J skdl! "* 
— Thus the tale ended 



*&kal t IB the Swedish expression for " Your Health." 




RALPH WALDO EMERSON 



THE LIBERATOR OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. 




O classify Emerson is a matter of no small difficulty. He was a 
philosopher, he was an essayist, he was a poet — all three so eminently 
that scarcely two of his friends would agree to which class he most 
belonged. Oliver Wendell Holmes asks: 

Where in the realm of thought whose air is song 
Does he the Buddha of the west belong ? 
He seems a winged FrankUn sweetly wise, 
Born to unlock the secret of the skies." 

But whatever he did was done with a poetic touch. Philosophy, easay or song, it 
was all pregnant with the spirit of poetry. Whatever else he was Emerson waa 
pre-eminently a poet. It was with this golden key that he unlocked the chambers of 
original thought, that liberated American letters. 

Until Emerson came, American authors had little independence. James Russell 
Lowell declares, "We were socially and intellectually bound to English thought, 
until Emerson cut the cable and gave us a chance at the dangers and glories of blue 
waters. He was our first optimistic writer. Before his day, Puritan theology had 
seen in man only a vile nature and considered his instincts for beauty and pleasure, 
proofs of his total depravity." Under such conditions as these, the imagination was 
fettered and wholesome literature was impossible. As a reaction against this Puri- 
tan austerity came Unitarianism, which aimed to establish the dignity of man, and 
out of this came the further growth of the idealism or transcendentalism of Emer- 
son. It was this idea and these aspirations of the new theology that Emerson con- 
verted into literature. The indirect influence of his example on the writings of 
Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier and Lowell, and its direct influence on Thoreau, 
Hawthorne, Chas. A. Dana, Margaret Fuller, G. W. Curtis and others, formed the 
very foundation for the beautiful structure of our representative American literature. 

Emerson was profoundly a thinker who pondered the relation of man to God 
and to the universe. He conceived and taught the noblest ideals of virtue and a 
spiritual life. The profound study which Emerson devoted to his themes and his 
philosophic cast of mind made him, a writer for scholars. He was a prophet who, 
witliout argument, announced truths which, by intuition, he seems to have perceived; 
but the thought is often so shadowy that the ordinary' reader fails to catch it. For 
336 



RALPH WALDO EMERSOIT. ^^j 

this reason he will never be like Longfellow or Whittier, a favorite with the masses. 
Let it not be understood, however, that all of Emerson's writings are heavy or 
shadowy or difficult to understand. On the contrary, some of his poems are of a 
popular character and are easy of comprehension. For instance, " The Hymn," 
sung at the completion of the Concord Monument in 1836, was on every one's lips 
at the time of the Centennial celebration, in 1876. His optimistic spirit is also beau- 
tifully and clearly expressed in the following stanza of his " Voluntaries :" 

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 

So near is God to man, 

When duty whispers low, " Thou must," 

The youth replies, " I can." 

These are but two instances of many that may be cited. No author is, perhaps, 
more enjoyed by those who understand him. He was a master of language. He 
never used the wrong word. His sentences are models. But he was not a logical 
or methodical writer. Every sentence stands by itself. His paragraphs might be 
arranged almost at random without essential loss to the essays. His philosophy con- 
sists largely in an array of golden sayings full of vital suggestions to help men 
make the best and most of themselves. He had no compact system of philosophy. 

Ralph Waldo Emerson was born in Boston, May 25, 1803, within " A kite-string 
of the birth place of Benjamin Franklin" with whom he is frequently compared. 
The likeness, however, consists only in the fact that they were both decidedly repre- 
sentative Americans of a decidedly different type. Franklin was prose, Emerson 
poetry; Franklin common sense, real; Emerson imaginative, ideal. In these oppo- 
site respects they both were equally representative of the highest type. Both were 
hopeful, kindly and shrewd. Both equally powerful in making, training and guid- 
ing the American people. 

In his eighth year young Emerson was sent to a grammar school, where he 
made such rapid progress, that he was soon able to enter a higher department 
known as a Latin school. His first attempts at writing were not the dull eflforts 
of a school boy ; but original poems which he read with real taste and feeling. 
He completed his course and graduated from Harvard College at eighteen. It is 
said that he was dull in mathematics and not above the average in his class in 
general standing ; but he was widely read in literature, which put him far in 
advance, perhaps, of any young man of his age. After graduating, he taught school 
for five years in connection with his brother; but in 1826, gave it up for the minis- 
try. For a time he was pastor of a Unitarian Congregation in Boston ; but his inde- 
pendent views were not in accordance with the doctrine of his church, therefore, he 
resigned in 1835, and retired to Concord, where he purchased a home near the 
spot on which the first battle of the Revolution was fought in 1775, which he 
commemorated in his own verse : — 

" There first the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world." 

In this city, Emerson resided until the day of his death, which occurred in Con- 
cord, April 27, 1882. in the seventy-eighth year of his age. 

22 



338 



RALPH WALDO EMEflSON. 



It was in Concord that the poet and essayist, as the prophet of the advanced 
thou-ht of his age, gathered around him those leading spirits who were dissatisfaed 
with'^the seltishness^and shallowness of existing society, and, who had been led by 
nim to dream of an ideal condition in which all should live as one family. Out ot 
this grew the famous " Brook Farm Community." This was not an original idea 
of Emerson's, however. Coleridge and Southey, of England, had thought ot found- 
in- such a society in Pennsvlvania, on the Susquehanna River. Emerson regarded 
tins community of interests'as the clear teachings of Jesus Christ; and, to put into 
practical operation this idea, a farm of about tw;o hundred acres was bought at 
Roxbury, Mass., and a stock company was formed under the title of ihe Brook 
Farm Institution of Agriculture and Education." About seventy members joined 




HOME OP RALPH WALDO EMERSON, CONCORD, MASS. 

in the enterprise. The principle of the organization was cooperative, the members 
sharing the profits. Nathaniel Hawthorne, the greatest of romancers, Chas. A 
'Dana, of the New York Tribune, Geo. W. Curtis, of Harper's Monthly, Henry D. 
Thoreau, the poet naturalist, Amos Bronson Alcott, the transcendental dreamer and 
writer of strange shadowy sayings, and Margaret Fuller, the most learned woman of 
her age, were prominent members who removed to live on the farm. It is said that 
Emerson, himself, never really lived there ; but was a member and frequent visitor, 
as were other prominent scholars of the same school. The project was a failure. 
After five years of experience, some of the houses were destroyed by fire, the enter- 
prise given up, and the membership scattered. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 339 

But the Brook Farm served its jnirpose in literature by briuging together some 
' of the best intellects in America, engaging them for five years in a common course 
of study, and stimulating a commerce of ideas. The breaking up of the community 
was better, perhaps, than its success would have been. It disjiersed and scattered 
I abroad the advanced thoughts of Emerson, and the doctrine of the society into every 
• profession. Instead of being contined to the little paper, " The Dial," (which was 
' the organ of the society) its literature was transferred into a number of widely cir- 
culated national mediums. 

Thus, it will be seen how Emerson, the "Sage of Concord," gathered around him 
and dominated, by his charming personality, his powerful mind, and his wholesome 
influence, some of the brightest minds that have figured in American literature; 
and how, through them, as well as his own writings, he has done so much, not only 
to lay the foundation of a new literature, but to mould and shape leading minds for 
generations to come. The Brook Farm idea was the uppermost thought in Edward 
Bellamy's famous novel, "Looking Backward," which created such a sensation in 
the reading world a few years since. The progressive thought of Emerson Avas 
father to the so-called "New Theology," or "Higher Criticism," of modern scholars 
and theologians. It is, perhaps, for the influence which Emerson has exerted, rather 
than his own works, that the literature of America is mostly indebted to him. It 
was through his efforts that the village of Concord has been made more famous in 
American letters than the city of New York. 

The charm of Emerson's personality has already been referred to, — and it is not 
strange that it should have been so great. His manhood, no less than his genius 
was worthy of admiration and of reverence. His life corresponded with his brave, 
cheerful and steadfast teachings. He "practiced what he preached." His manners 
were so gentle, his nature so transparent, and his life so singularly pure and happy, 
that he was called, while he lived, "the good and great Emerson;" and, since his 
death, the memory of his life and manlv example are among the cherished posses- 
sions of our literature. 

The reverence of his literary associates was little less than worship. Amos Bron- 
son Alcott, — father of the authoress, Louisa M. Alcott, — one of the Brook Farm 
members, though himself a profound scholar and several years Emerson's senior, 
declared that it would have been his great misfortune to have lived without knowing 
Emerson, whom he styled, "The magic minstrel and speaker! whose rhetoric, voiced 
as by organ stops, delivers the sentiment from his breast in cadences peculiar to 
himself; now hurling it forth on the ear, echoing them; then, — as his mood and 
matter invite it — dying like 

Music of mild lutes 
Or silver coated flutes. 

. . . such is the rhapsodist's cunning in its structure and delivery." 

Referring to his association with Emerson, the same writer acknowledges in a 
poem, written after the sage's death : 

Thy fellowship was my culture, noble friend : 
By the hand thou took'st me, and did'st condescend 
To brinp; me straightway into thy fair guild ; 
And life-long hath it been high compliment 



340 



RALPH WALDO EMERSOIT. 



By that to have been known, and thy friend styled, 
Given to rare thought and to good learning bent ; 
Whilst in my straits an angel on me smiled. 
Permit me, then, thus honored, still to be 
A scholar in thy university. 




HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD MONUMENT, 1836. 

Y the rude bridge that arched the flood, 



Their flag to April's breeze unfurled. 
Here once the embattled farmers stood. 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 



The foe long since in silence slept ; 

Ahke the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 



On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
We set to day a votive stone. 

That memory may their deed redeem 
When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit that made those heroes dare 
To die or leave their children free. 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and thee. 



THE RHODORA. 




N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook ; 
The purple petals ftillen in the pool 

Made the black waters with their beauty gay ; 
Young Raphael might covet such a school ; 
The lively show beguiled me from my way. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 



This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky. 
Dear tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why, thou wert there, 0, rival of the rose ! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew. 

But in my simple ignorance suppose i 

The selfsame Power that brought me there, brought]' 
you. 



THE TRUE HERO. 

AN EXTRACT FROM "VOLUNTARIES." 

The following story is told of the manner in which the poem, "Voluntaries,'' obtained its title. In 1863, 
Mr. Emerson came to Boston and took a room in the Parker House, bringing with him the unfinished sketch 
of a few verses which he wished Mr. Fields, his publisher, to hear. He drew a small table to the centre' 
of the room and "-ead aloud the lines he proposed giving to the press. They were written on separate slip! 
of paper which were flying loosely about the room. (Mr. Emerson frequently wrote in such independent 
paragraphs, that many of his poems and essays might be rearranged without doing them serious violence,) 
The question arose as to title of the verses read, when Mr. Fields suggested " Voluntaires, " which was cor 
dially accepted by Jlr. Emerson. 




WELL for the fortunate soul 
Which Music's wings unfold, 
Stealing away the memory 
Of sorrows new and old ! 
Yet happier he whose inward sight, 
Stayed on his subtle thought, 
Shuts his sense on toys of time, 
To vacant bosoms brought ; 
But best befriended of the God 
He who, in evil times, 
Warned by an inward voice, 



Heeds not the darkness and the dread. 
Biding by his rule and choice, 
Telling only the fiery thread, 
Leading over heroic ground ' 
Walled with immortal terror round, 
To the aim which him allures, 
And the sweet heaven his deed secures. 
Peril around all else appalling. 
Cannon in front and leaden rain. 
Him duty through the clarion calling 
To the van called not in vain. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 



341 



Stainless scildier on the walls, 
Knowing this, — and knows no inore,- 
Whoever fights, whoever falls, 
Justice con(|uers evermore, 
Justice after as before ; — 
And he who battles on her side, 
God, though he were ten times slain, 
Crowns him victor glorified, 
Victor over death and pain 



Forever : but his erring foe. 
Self-assured that he jiievails, 
Looks from his victim lying low, 
And sees aloft the red right arm 
Redress the eternal scales. 
He, the poor for whom angels foil, 
Blind with pride and fooled by hate, 
Writhes within the dragon coil. 
Reserved to a speechless fat«. 



MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL. 




'HE mountain and the squirrel 

Had a quarrel ; 

And the former called the latter 
Prig." 
Bun replied : 

" You are doubtless very big ; 
But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in t<>gether. 
To make up a year 
And a sphere. 



Little 



And I think it no disgrace 

To occupy my place. 

If I'm not so large as you. 

You are not so small as I, 

And not half so spry. 

I'll not deny you make 

A very pretty squirrel track ; 

Talents diifer ; all is well and wisely put ; 

If I cannot carry forests on my back, 

Neither can you crack a nut." 



THE SNOW STORM. 




NNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky 
Arrives the snow, and driving o'er the 

fields. 
Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveler stopp'd, the courier's feet 
Delay'd, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fire-place, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north-wind's masonry. 
Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
Furnish'd with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
fiound every windward stake, or tree, or door. 



Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs, and at the gat« 
A tapering turret overtops the work. 
And when his hours are number'd, and the world 
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not. 
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonish'd Art 
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, 
The frolic architecture of the snow. 



THE PROBLEM. 




LIKE a church, I like a cowl, 
I love a prophet of the soul. 
And on my heart monastic aisles 
Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles. 

Yet not for all his faith can see 

Would I that cowled churchman be. 

Why should the vest on him allure. 

Which I could not on me endure ? 

Not from a vain or shallow thought 

His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; 

Never from lips of cunning fell 



The thrilling De/phic oracle ; 

Out from the heart of nature roll'd 

The burdens of the Bible old ; 

The litanies of nations came, 

Like the volcano's tongue of flame. 

Up from the burning core below, — 

The canticles of love and wo. 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome. 

And groin'd the aisles of Christian Rome, 

Wrought in a sad sincerity. 

Himself from God he could not free : 



342 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 



He builded better than he knew. 
The conscious stone to beauty gicw. 

Know'st thou what wove yon wood-bird's nest 
or leaves, and feathers from her breast ? 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, 
Paintinjjc with mom each annual cell ? 
Or how the sacred pine tree adds 
To her old leaves new myriads ? 
Suth and so grew these holy piles. 
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon 
As the best gem upon her zone ; 
And morning opes with haste her lids 
To gaze upon the Pyramids ; 
O'er England's Abbeys bends the sky 
As on its friends with kindred eye ; 
For. out of Thought's interior sphere 
These wonders rose to upper air, 
And nature gladly gave them place, 
Adopted them into her race, 
And granted them an equal date 
"With Andes and with Ararat. 

These temples grew as grows the grass, 
Art might obey but not surpass. 
The passive Master lent his hand 



To the vast Soul that o'er him plann'd. 
And the same power that rear'd the shrine 
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. 
Ever the fiery Pentecost 
Girds with one flame the countless host. 
Trances the heart through chanting choirs, 
And through the priest the mind inspires. 

The word unto the prophet spoken, 
Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; 
The word by seers or sybils told 
In groves of oak or fanes of gold, 
Still floats upon the morning wind, 
Still whispers to the willing mind. 
One accent of the Holy Ghost 
The heedless world hath never lost. 
I know what say the Fathers wise, — 
The book itself before me lies, — 
Old Chri/sostom, best Augustine, 
And he who blent both in his line. 
The younger Golden Lips or mines, 
Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines; 
His words are music in my ear, 
I see his cowled portrait dear. 
And yet. for all his faith could see, 
I would not the good bishop be. 



TRAVELING. 




HAVE no churlish objection to the cir- 
cumnavigation of the globe, for the pur- 
poses of art, of study, and benevolence, 
so that the man is first domesticated, or does not 
go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater 
than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or 
to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels 
away from himself, and grows old even in youth 
among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, hia will 
and mind have become old and dilapidated as they. 
He carries ruins to ruins. 

Traveling is a fool's paradise. We owe to our 
first journeys the discovery that place is nothing. At 
home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be in- 
toxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack 
my trunk, embrace my friends, and embark on the 
sea, and at last wake up at Naples, and there beside 
me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identi- 
cal that I fled from. I seek the Vatican and the 
palaces. I afi'ect to be intoxicated with sights and 
suggestions ; but I am not intoxicated. My giant 
goes with me wherever I go. 

But the rage of traveling is itself only a symptom 
of a deeper unsoundness affecting the whole intel- 



lectual action. The intellect is vagabond, and the 
universal system of education fosters restlessness. 
Our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay 
at home. We imitate ; and what is imitation but I 
the traveling of the mind ? Our houses are built 
with foreign taste ; our shelves are garnished with 
foreign ornaments ; our opinions, our tastes, our 
whole minds, lean to and follow the past and the dis- 
tant as the eyes of a maid follow her mistress. The 
soul created the arts wherever they have flourished. 
It was in his own mind that the artist sought his 
model. It was an application of his own thought to 
the thing to be done and the conditions to be ob- 
served. And why need we copy the Doric or the 
Gothic model ? Beauty, convenience, grandeur of 
thought and quaint expression are as near to us as to 
any. and if the American artist will study with hope 
and love the precise thing to be done Dy him, con- 
sidering the climate, the soil, the length of the day, 
the wants of the people, the habit and form of 
the government, he will create a house in which all 
these will find themselves fitted, and taste and senti- 
ment will be satisfied also. 




JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



THE POET OF FREEDOM. 




N A solitary farm house near Haverhill, Massachusetts, in the valley 
of the Merrimac, on the 17th day of December, 1807, John Green- 
leaf Whittier was born. Within the same town, and Amesbury. 
nearby, this kind and gentle man, whom all the world delights to 
honor for his simple and beautiful heart-songs, spent most of his life, 
dying at the ripe old age of nearly eighty-five, in Danvers, Massa- 
chusetts, September 7th, 1892. The only distinguishing features about his ancestors 
were that Thos. Whittier settled at Haverhill in 1647, and brought with him from 
Newberiy the first hive of bees in the settlement, that they were all sturdy Quakers, 
lived simply, were friendly and freedom loving. The early surroundings of the 
farmer boy were simple anc' frugal. He has pictured them for us in his masterpiece, 
"Snowbound." Poverty, the necessity of laboring upon the farm, the influence of 
Quaker traditions, his busy life, all conspired against his liberal education and literary 
culture. This limitation of knowledge is, however, at once to the masses his charm, 
and, to scholars, his one defect. It has led him to write, as no other poet could, 
upon the dear simplicity of New England farm life. He has written from the heart 
aud not from the head ; he has composed popular pastorals, not hymns of culture. 
Only such training as the district schools afforded, with a couple of years at Haver- 
hill Academy comprised his advantages in education. 

In referring to this alma mater in after years, under the spell of his muse, the 
poet thus writes : — 

" Still sits the school house by the road, 
A ragged beggar sunning ; 
Around it still the sumachs grow 
And black-berry vines are running. 

Within, the master's desk is seen. 
Deep-scarred by raps oflScial ; 
The warping floor, the battered seats. 
The jack-knife carved initial." 

It was natural for Whittier to become the poet of that combination of which 
Garrison was the apostle, and Phillips and Sumner the orators. His early poems were 
published by Garrison in his paper, " The Free Press," the first one when Whittier 

343 



344 



JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER. 



was nineteen years of age and Garrison himself little more than a boy. The farmer 
lad was elated when he found the verses which he had so timidly submitted in print 
with a friendly comment from the editor and a request for more. Garrisoii even 
visited Whittier's parents and urged the importance of giving him a finished educa- 
tion. Thus he fell early under the sjjell of the great abolitionist and threw himself 
with all the ardor of his nature into the movement. His poems against slavery and 
disunion have a ringing zeal worthy of a Cromwell. " They are," declares one 
writer, " like the sound of the trumpets blown before the walls of Jericho." 

As a Quaker Whittier could not have been otherwise than an abolitionist, for that 
denomination had long since abolished slavery within its own communion. Most 
prominent among his poems of freedom are "The Voice of Freedom," published in 
1849, " The Panorama and Other Poems," in 1856, " In War Times," in 1863, and 
" Ichabod," a jjathetically kind yet severely stinging rebuke to Daniel Webster for 
his support of the Fugitive Slave Law. Webster was right from the standpoint of 
law and the Constitution, but Whittier argued from the standpoint of human right 
and liberty. " Barbara Frietchie," — while it is pronounced purely a fiction, as 
is also his poem about Johu Brown kissing the Negro baby on his way to the gal- 
lows, — is perhaps the most widely quoted of his famous war poems. 

Whittier also wrote extensively on subjects relating to New England history, 
witchcraft and colonial traditions. This group includes many of his best ballads, 
which have done in verse for colonial romance what Hawthorne did in prose in his 
" Twice-Told Tales " and " Scarlet Letter." It is these poems that have entitled 
Whittier to be called " the greatest of American ballad writers." Among them are 
to be found " Mabel Martin," " The Witch of Wenham," " Marguerite " and 
"Skipper Ireson's Ride." But it is perhaps in the third department of his writings, 
namely, rural. tales and idyls, that the poet is most widely known. These pastoral 
poems contain the very heart and soul of New England. They are faithful and 
loving pictures of humble life, simple and peaceful in their subject and in their 
style. The masterpieces of this class are " Snowbound," " Maud MuUer," " The 
Barefoot Boy," "Among the Hills," " Telling the Bees," etc. The relation of these 
simple experiences of homely character has carried him to the hearts of the people 
and made him, next to Longfellow, the most popular of American poets. There is 
a pleasure and a satisfaction in the freshness of Whittier's homely words and home- 
spun phrases, which we seek in vain in the polished art of cultivated masters. As 
a poet of nature he has painted the landscapes of New England as Bryant has the 
larger features of the continent. 

Whittier was never married and aside from a few exquisite verses he has given 
the public no clew to the romance of his youth. His home was presided over for 
many years by his sister Elizabeth, a most lovely and talented woman, for whom he 
cherished the deepest affection, and he has written nothing more touching than his 
tribute to her memory in " Snowbound." The poet was shy and difiident among 
strangers and in formal society, but among his friends genial and delightful, with a 
fund of gentle and delicate humor which gave his conversation a great charm. 

Aside from his work as a poet Whittier wrote considerable prose. His first volume 
was " Legends of New England," published in 1831, consisting of prose and verse. 
Subsequent prose publications consisted of contributions to the slave controversy^ 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 345 

biographical sketclies of English and American reformers, studies of scenery and 
folk-lore of the Merrimac valley. Those of greatest literary interest were the 
" Supernaturalisms of New England," (1847,) and " Literary Recreations and 
Miscellanies," (1852.) 

In 1836 Whittier became secretary of the American Anti-Slavery Society, and 
he was all his life interested in public affairs, and wrote much for newspapers and 
periodicals. In 1838 he began to edit the " Pennsylvania Freeman " in Philadel- 
phia, but in the following year his press was destroyed and his office burned by a 
pro-slavery mob, and he returned to New England, devoting the larger part of his 
life, aside from his anti-slavery political writings, to embalming its history and 
legends in his literature, and so completely has it been done by him it has been 
declared : " If every other record of the early history and life of New England 
were lost the story could be constructed again from the j^ages of Whittier. Traits, 
habits, facts, traditions, incidents — he holds a torch to the dark places and illumines 
them every one." 

Mr. Whittier, perhaps, is the most peculiarly American poet of any that our country 
has produced. The woods and waterfowl of Bryant belong as much to one land 
as another ; and all the rest of our singers — Emerson, Longfellow, Lowell, and their 
brethren — with the single exception of Joaquin Miller, might as well have been born 
in the land of Shakespeare, Milton and Byron as their own. But Whittier is 
entirelv a poet of his own soil. All through his verse we see the elements that 
created it, and it is interesting to trace his simple life, throughout, in his verses from 
the time, when like that urchin with whom he asserts brotherhood, and who has won 
all aflfections, he ate his 

* * * " milk and bread, 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone gray and rude. 

O'er me, like a regal tent, 

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, 

Purple curtains fringed with gold 

Looped in many a wind-swung fold ;" 

and, when a little older his fancy dwelt upon the adventures of Chalkley— as 

" Following my plough by Merrimac's green shore 
His simple record I have pondered o'er 
With deep and quiet joy." 

In these reveries, " The Barefoot Boy " and others, thousands of his countrymen 
have lived over their lives again. Every thing he wrote, to the New Englander has 
a sweet, warm familiar life about it. To them his writings are familiar photo- 
graphs, but they are also treasury houses of facts over which the future antiquarian 
will pour and gather all the close details of the phase of civilization that they give. 

The old Wliittier homestead at Amesbury is now in charge of Mrs. Pickard, a 
neice of the poet. She has recently made certain changes in the house ; but this 
has been done so wisely and cautiously that if the place some day becomes a shrine 
— as it doubtless will — the restoration of the old estate will be a simple matter. The 
library is left quite undisturbed, just as it was when Whittier died. 



346 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



MY PLAYMATE. 




HE pines were dark on Ramoth Hill, 
Their song was soft and low ; 
The blossoms in the sweet May wind 
Were fallinsr like the snow. 



The blossoms drifted at our feet, 
The orchard birds sang clear ; 

The sweetest and the saddest day 
It seemed of all the year, 

For more to me than birds or flowers, 
My playmate left her home. 

And took with her the laughing spring, 
The music and the> bloom. 

She kissed the lips of kith and kin. 

She laid her hand in mine : 
What more could ask the bashful boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

She left us in the bloom of May : 
The constant years told o'er 

The seasons with as sweet May morns, 
But she came back no more. 

I walk with noiseless feet the round 

Of uneventful years ; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the Spring 

And reap the Autumn ears. 

She lives where all the golden year 

Her summer roses blow ; 
The dusky children of the sun 

Before her come and go. 

There haply with her jeweled hands 
She smooths her silken gown, — 

No more the homespun lap wherein 
I shook the walnuts down. 



The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 

The brown nuts on the hill, 
And still the May-day flowers make sweet 

The woods of Follymill. 

The lilies blossom in the pond, 

The birds build in the tree, 
The dark pines sing on Ramoth Hill 

The slow song of the sea. 

I wonder if she thinks of them, 
And how the old time seems, — 

If ever the pines of Ramoth wood 
Are sounding in her dreams. 

I see her face, I hear her voice ; 

Does she remember mine ? 
And what to her is now the boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours, — 
That other hands with nuts are filled, 

And other laps with flowers ? 

playmate in the golden time 1 

Our mossy seat is green. 
Its fringing violets blossom yet, 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

The winds so sweet with birch and fern 

A sweeter memory blow ; 
And there in spring the veeries sing 

The song of long ago. 

And still the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are moaning like the sea, — 
The moaning of the sea of change 

Between myself and thee ! 



THE CHANGELING. 




OR the fairest maid in Hampton 
They needed not to search. 
Who saw young Anna Favor 
Come walking into church, — 



Or bringing from the meadows, 
At set of harvest-day, 

The frolic of the blackbirds, 
The sweetness of the hay. 



Now the weariest of all mothers, 
The saddest two-years bride, 

She scowls in the face of her husband, 
And spurns her child aside. 

" Rake out the red coals, goodman, 
For there the child shall lie, 

Till the black witch comes to fetch her, 
And both up chimney fly. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



347 



" It's nevei' my own little daughter, 
It's never my own," she said ; 

" The witches have stolen my Anna, 
And left me an imp instead. 

" 0, fair and sweet was my baby, 
Blue eyes, and ringlets of gold ; 

But this is ugly and wrinkled, 
Cross, and cunning, and old. 

" I hate the touch of her fingers, 

I hate the feel of her skin ; 
It's not the milk from my bosom. 

But my blood, that she sucks in. 

" My face grows sharp with the torment ; 

Look ! my arms are skin and bone ! — 
Bake open the red coals, goodman, 

And the witch shall have her own. 

" She'll come when she hears it crjing, 
In the shape of an owl or bat, 

And she'll bring us our darhng Anna 
In place of her screeching brat." 

Then the goodman, Ezra Dalton, 
Laid his hand upon her head : 

*' Thy sorrow is great, O woman 1 
I sorrow with thee," he said. 

" The paths to trouble are many, 

And never but one sure way 
Leads out to the light beyond it : 

!My poor wife, let us pray." 

Then he said to the great All-Father, 
"Thy daughter is weak and blind ; 

Let her sight come back, and clothe her 
Once more in her right mind. 

"Lead her out of this evil shadow, 

Out of these fancies wild ; 
Let the holy love of the mother, 

Turn again to her child. 

" Make her lips like the lips of Mary, 

Kissing her blessed Son ; 
Let her hands, like the hands of Jesus, 

Rest on her little one. 

" Comfort the soul of thy handmaid, 

Open her prison door, 
And thine shall be all the glory 

And praise forevermore." 



Then into the face of its mother, 
The baby looked up and smiled ; 

And the cloud of her soul was lifted. 
And she knew her little child. 

A beam of slant west sunshine 
Made the wan face almost fair. 

Lit the blue eyes' patient wonder 
And the rings of pale gold hair. 

She kissed it on lip and forehead. 
She kissed it on cheek and chin ; 

And she bared her snow-white bosom 
To the lips so pale and thin. 

0, fair on her bridal morning 

Was the maid who blushed and smiled 
But fairer to Ezra Dalton 

Looked the mother of his child. 

With more than a lover's fondness 
He stooped to her worn young face 

And the nursing child and the mother 
He folded in one embrace. 

" Now mount and ride, my goodman 

As lovest thine own soul ! 
Woe's me if my wicked fancies 

Be the death of Goody Cole !" 

His horse he saddled and bridled. 
And into the night rode he, — 

Now through the great black woodland ; 
Now by the white-beached sea. 

He rode through the silent clearings. 

He came to the ferry wide. 
And thrice he called to the boatman 

Asleep on the other side. 

He set his horse to the river. 

He swam to Newburg town, 
And he called up Justice Sewall 

In his nightcap and his gown. 

And the grave and worshipful justice, 

Upon whose soul be peace ! 
Set his name to the jailer's warrant 

For Goody Cole's release. 

Then through the night the hoof-beats 

Went sounding like a flail : 
And Goody Cole at cock crow 

Came forth from Ipswich jaiL 



348 



JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER. 
THE WORSHIP OF NATURE. 




HE ocean looketh up to heaven, 
As 'twere a liring thing ; 
The homage of its waves is given 
In ceaseless worshiping. 

They kneel upon the sloping sand, 
As bends the human knee, 

A beautiful and tireless band, 
The priesthood of the sea ! 

They pour the glittering treasures out 
Which in the deep have birth, 

And chant their awful hymns about 
The watching hills of earth. 

The green earth sends its incense up 
From every mountain-shrine, 

From every flower and dewy cup 
That greeteth the sunshine. 

The mists are lifted from the rills, 
Like the white wing of prayer ; 



They lean above the ancient hills, 
As doing homage there. 

The forest-tops are lowly cast 

er breezy hiU and glen, 
As if a prayerful spirit pass'd 

On nature as on men. 

The clouds weep o'er the fallen world, 

E en as repentant love ; 
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl'd. 

They fade in light above. 

The sky is as a temple's arch, 

The blue and wavy air 
Is glorious with the spirit-march 

Of messengers at prayer. 

The gentle moon, the kindUng sun, 

The many stars are given, 
As shrines to burn earth's incense oa, 

The altar-fires of Heaven ! 



THE BAREFOOT BOY. 




LESSINGS on thee, little man. 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned up pantaloons. 
And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 
With the sunshine on thy face. 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace I 
From my heart I give thee joy ; 
I was once a barefoot boy. 
Prince thou art — the grown-up man, 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-doUared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy, 
In the reach of ear and eye : 
Outward sunshine, inward joy. 
Blessings on the barefoot boy. 

O ! for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools : 
Of the wild bee's morning chase, 
Of the wild flower's time and place. 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell. 
How the woodchuck digs his cell, 
And the ground-mole sinks his well ; 
How the robin feeds her young. 



How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow, 
Where the freshest berries grow, 
Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 
Of the black wasp's cunning way. 
Mason of his walls of clay, 
And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans ! 
For, eschewing books and tasks. 
Nature answers all he asks; 
Hand in hand with her he walks. 
Part and parcel of her joy. 
Blessings on the barefoot boy. 

for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw. 
Me, their master, waited for ! 

1 was rich in flowers and trees 
Humming-birds and honey-bees; 
For my sport the squirrel played 
Plied the snouted mole his spade; 
For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight, 
Through the day, and through the night 
Whispering at the garden wall. 

Talked with me from fall to fall , 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEK. 



349 



Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of llesperides ! 
StiU, as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew m}' riches too, 
All the world 1 saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

0, for festal dainties spread. 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 

er me Uke a regal tent, 
Cloudy ribbed, the sunset bent. 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold. 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 

Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 

1 was monarch ; pomp and joy 



Waited on the barefoot boy ! 
Cheerily, then, my little man ! 
Live and laugh as boyhood can ; 
Though the flinty slopes be hard. 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat ; 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work lie shod. 
Made to tread the mills of toil. 
Up and down in ceaseless moil, 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 
Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of ein. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 




MAUD 

AUD 5IULLER, on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 



Ringing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far oS town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down. 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing tilled her breast — 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

*' Thanks ! " said the Judge, " a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaff'ed. ' 



MULLER. 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees. 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown, 
And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, hke one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me f 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

" He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

" My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; 
My brother should saU a painted boat. 

" I'd dress my mother so grand and gay. 

And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

" And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet 



350 



JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIER. 



" And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay : 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs. 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

But he thought of his .sisters, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead ; 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 
" Ah, that I were free again ! 

" Free as when I rode that day. 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor. 
And many children played round her door. 



But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new mown hay in the meadow lot, 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall. 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And gazing down with timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned ; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, " It might have been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these : " It might have been ! " 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away I 



MEMORIES. 




BEAUTIFUL and happy girl 

With step as soft as summer air. 
And fresh young lip and brow of pearl 
Shadow'd by many a careless curl 
Of unconfined and flowing hair: 



A seeming child in every thing 

Save thoughtful brow, and ripening 
charms, 

As nature wears the smile of spring 
When sinking into summer's arms. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



351 



A mind rejoicinn; in the light 

Which melted through its graceful bower, 
Leaf after leaf serenely bright 
And stainless in its huly white 

Unfolding like a morning flower: 
A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute 

With every breath of feeling woke, 
And, even when the tongue was mut«. 

From eye and lip in music spoke. 

How thrills once more the lengthening chain 

Of memory at the thought of thee ! — 
Old hopes which long in dust have lain. 
Old dreams come thronging back again. 

And boyhood lives again in me ; 
I feel its glow upon my cheek. 

Its fulness of the heart is mine, 
As when I lean'd to hear thee speak. 

Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. 

1 hear again thy low replies, 

I feel thy arm within my own, 
And timidly again uprise 
The fringed lids of hazel eyes 

With soft brown tresses overblown. 
Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves. 

Of moonlit wave and willowy way, 
Of stars and flowers and dewy leaves. 

And smiles and tones more dear than they ! 

Ere this thy quiet eye hath smiled 

My picture of thy youth to see. 
When half a woman, half a child. 
Thy very artlessness beguiled, 

And folly's self seem'd wise in thee. 
I too can smile, when o'er that hour 

The lights of memory backward stream, 
Yet feel the while that manhood's power 

Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. 



Years have pass'd on, and left their trace 

Of graver care and deeper thought ; 
And unto me the calm, cold face 
Of manhood, and to thee the grace 

Of woman's pensive beauty brought. 
On life's rough blasts for blame or praise 

The schoolboy's name has widely flows; 
Thine in the green and quiet ways 

Of unobtrusive goodness known. 

And wider yet in thought and deed 

Our still diverging thoughts incline, 
Thine the Genevan's sternest creed. 
While answers to my spirit's need 

The Yorkshire peasant's simple line. 
For thee the priestly rite and prayer. 

And holy day and solemn psalm. 
For me the silent reverence where 

My brethren gather, slow and calm. 

Yet hath thy spirit left on me 

An impress time has not worn out, 
And something of myself in thee, 
A shadow from the past, I see 

Lingering even yet thy way about ; 
Not wholly can the heart unlearn 

That lesson of its better hours, 
Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn 

To common dust that path of flowers. 

Thus, while at times before our eye 

The clouds about the present part, 
And, smiling through them, round us lie 
Soft hues of memory's morning sky — 

The Indian summer of the heart. 
In secret sympathies of mind, 

In founts of feeling which retain 
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find 

Our early dreams not wholly vain ! 



THE PRISONEK FOR DEBT. 




'OOK on him — through his dungeon-grate, 
Feebly and cold, the morning light 
Comes stealing round him, dim and late. 
As if it loathed the sight. 
Rechning on his strawy bed. 
His hand upholds his drooping head — 
His bloodless cheek is seam'd and hard, 
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard ; 
And o'er his bony fingers flow 
His long, dishevell'd locks of snow. 

No grateful fire before him glows, — 
And yet the winter's breath is chill : 



And o'er his half-clad person goes 

The frequent ague-thrill ! 
Silent — save ever and anon, 
A sound, half-murmur and half-groan, 
Forces apart the painful grip 
Of the old sufferer's bearded lip : 
0, sad and crushing is the fate 
Of old age chain'd and desolate ! 

Just God ! why lies that old man there ? 

A murderer shares his prison-bed, 
Wliose eyeballs, through his horrid hair, 

Gleam on him fierce and red; 



352 



JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER. 



And the rude oath and heartless jeer 
Fall ever on his loathing ear, 
And, or in wakefulness or sleep 
Nerve, flesh, and fibre thrill and creep, 
Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb, 
Crimson'd with murder, touches him ! 

What has the gray-hair'd prisoner done ? 

Has murder stain'd his hands with gore ? 
Not so : his crime's a fouler one : 

God made the old man poor ! 
For this he shares a felon's cell — 
The fittest earthly type of hell ! 
For this — the boon for which he pour'd 
His young blood on the invader's sword, 
And counted light the fearful cost — 
His blood-gain'd liberty is lost ! 

And so, for such a place of rest, 

Old prisoner, pour'd thy blood as raia 
On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest, 

And Saratoga's plain? 
Look forth, thou man of many scars, 
Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars I 
It must be joy, in sooth, to see 
Yon monument uprear'd to thee — 
Piled granite and a prison cell^ 
The land repays thy service well ! 

Go, ring the bells and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banner out ; 



Shout " Freedom !" till your lisping ones 

Give back their cradle-shout : 
Let boasted eloquence declaim 
Of honor, liberty, and fame ; 
Still let the poet's strain be heard, 
With " glory " for each second word, 
And everything with breath agree 
To praise, •• our glorious liberty !" 

And when the patriot cannon jars 
That prison's cold and gloomy wall, 

And through its grates the stripes and stare 
Rise on the wind, and fall — 

Think ye that prisoner's aged ear 

Rejoices in the general cheer ! 

Think ye his dim and failing eye 

Is kindled at your pageantry ? 

Sorrowing of soul, and chain'd of limb, 

What is your carnival to him ? 

Down with the law that binds him thus I 

Unworthy freemen, let it find 
No refuge from the withering curse 

Of God and human kind ! 
Open the pris(3ner's living tomb, 
And usher from its brooding gloom 
The victims of your savage code, 
To the free sun and air of God ! 
No longer dare as crime to brand. 
The chastening of the Almighty's hand I 



THE STORM. 

FROM "SNOW-BOUND." 

Snow-bound is regarded as Whittier's master-piece, as a descriptive and reminiscent poem. It is a New 
England Fireside Idyl, which in its faithfulness recalls, "The Winter Evening, " of Cowper, and Burns' 
" Cotter's Saturday Night " ; but in sweetness and animation, it is superior to either of these. Snow-bonnd 
is a faithful description of a winter scene, familiar in the country surrounding Whittier's home in Connect- 
icut. The complete poem is published in illustrated form by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., by whose per- 
misssion this extract is here inserted. 




NWARNED by any sunset light 
The gray day darkened into night, 
A night made hoary with the ewarm 
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm. 
As zigzag wavering to and fro 
Crossed and recrossed the winged snow ; 
And ere the early bedtime came 
The white drift piled the window-frame. 
And through the glass the clothes-Une posts 
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 



So all night long the storm roared on : 
The morning broke without a sun ; 
In tiny spherule traced with Unas 



Of Nature's geometric signs, 

In starry flake, and pellicle. 

All day the hoary meteor fell ; 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 

The blue walls of the firmament. 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sight of ours 

Took marvelous shapes ; strange domes and towers 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 

Or garden wall, or belt of wood ; 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



353 



A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof, 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 
Our father wasted : " Bojs, a path ! " 
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 



Count such a summons less than joy ? ) 
Our buskins on our feet we drew ; 
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow. 
We cut the suUd whiteness through. 
And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 
With dazzling crystal ; we had read 
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, 
And to our own his name we gave. 
With many a wish the luck were ours 
To test his lamp's supernal powers. 



ICHABOD. 

The following poem was written on hearing of Daniel Webster's course in supporting tlie " Compromise 
Measure," including tlie "Fugitive Slave Law". Tliis speech was delivered in tlie United Slates Senate 
on the 7th of March, 1850, and greatly incensed the Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier, in common with many 
Kew Englanders, regarded it as the certain downfall of Mr. Webster. The lines are full of tender regret. 
deep grief and touching pathos. 




fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 



W'hich once he wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 
For evermore ! 



Eevile him not, — the Tempter hath 

A snare for all ! 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath. 

Befit bis fall. 

Oh ! dumb be passion's stormy rage. 

When he who might 
Have lighted up and led his age 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn 1 would the angels laugh to mark 

A bright soul driven. 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark. 

From hope and heaven ? 

Let not the land, once proud of him. 
Insult him now, 

23 



Nor brand with deeper shame his dim 
Dishonor'd brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead. 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead, 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honor'd, nought 
Save power remains, — 

A fallen angel's pride of thought 
Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 
When faith is lost, when honor dies, 

The man is dead ! 

Then pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward with averted gaze. 

And hide the shame ! 




OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



POET, ESSAYIST AND HUMORIST. 




HIS distinguished author, known and admired throughout the Eng- 
lish speaking world for the rich vein of philosophy, good fellowship 
and pungent humor that runs through his poetry and prose, was born 
in Cambridge, Massachussetts, August 29th, 1809, and died in Bos- 
ton, October 27th 1894, at the ripe old age of eighty-five — the " last 
leaf on the tree" of that famous group, Whittier, Longfellow, Lowell, 
Emerson, Bryant, Poe, Willis, Hawthorne, Richard Henry Dana, Thoreau, Mar- 
garet Fuller and others who laid the foundation of our national literature, and with 
all of whom he was on intimate terms as a co-laborer at one time or another. 

Holmes graduated at Harvard College in 1829. His genial disposition made him 
a favorite with his fellows, to whom some of his best early poems are dedicated. 
One of his classmates said of him : — "He made you feel like you were the best fel- 
low in the world and he was the next best." Benjamin Pierce, the astronomer, and 
Rev. Samuel F. Smith, the author of our National Hymn, were his class-mates and 
have been wittily described in his poem " The Boys." Dr. Holmes once humorously 
said that he supposed " the three people whose poems were best known were himself, 
one Smith and one Brown. As for himself, everybody knew who he was ; the one 
Brown was author of ' I love to Steal a While Away,' and the one Smith was 
author of ' My Country 'Tis of Thee.'" 

After graduation Holmes studied medicine in the schools of Europe, but returned 
to finish his course and take his degree at Harvard. For nine years he was Profes- 
sor of Physiology and Anatomy at Dartmouth College, and in 1847 he accepted a 
similar position in Harvard University, to which his subsequent professional labors 
were devoted. He also published several works on medicine, the last being a volume 
of medical essays, issued in 1883. 

Holmes' first poetic publication was a small volume published in 1836, including 
three poems which still remain favorites, namely, " My Aunt," "The height of the 
Ridiculous " and " The Last Leaf on the Tree." Other volumes of his poems were 
issued in 1846, 1850, 1861, 1875 and 1880. 

Dr. Holmes is popularly known as the poet of society, this title attaching because 
most of his productions were called forth by special occasions. About one hundred 
of them were prepared for his Harvard class re-unions and his fraternity (Phi Beta 
Kappa) social and anniversary entertainments. The poems which will preserve 
his fame, however, are those of a general interest, like " The Deacon's Masterpiece," 

354 2 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 355 

in which the Yankee spirit speaks out, " The Voiceless," " The Living Temple," 
" The Chambered Nautilus," in which we tind a truly exalted treatment of a lofty 
theme ; " The Last Leaf on the Tree,'" which is a remarkable combination of pathos 
and humor; "The Spectre Pig" and "The Ballad of an 03^sterman," showing to 
what extent he can play in real fun. In fact, Dr. Holmes was a many-sided man, 
and equally presentable on all sides. It has been truthfully said of him, " No other 
American versifier has rhymed so easily and so gracefully. AVe might further add, 
no other in his personality, has been more universally esteemed and beloved by those 
who knew him. 

As a prose writer Holmes was equally famous. His " Autocrat at the Breakfast 

Table," " Professor at the Breakfast Table " and " Poet at the Breakfast Table,'* 

published respectively in 1858, 1859 and 1873, are everywhere known, and not to 

: have read them is to have neglected something im])ortant in literature. The 

• "Autocrat" ib especially a masterpiece. An American boarding house with its 

typical characters forms the scene. The Autocrat is the hero, or rather leader, of 

the sparkling conversations which make up the threads of the book. Humor, satire 

. and scholarship are skilfully mingled in its graceful literary formation. In this 

, work will also be found " The Wonderful One Horse Shay " and " The Chambered 

I Nautilus," two of the author's best poems. 

Holmes wrote two novels, " Elsie Venner " and " The Guardian Angel," which 
in their romance rival the weirdness of Hawthorne and show his genius in 
this line of literature. "Mechanism in Thought and Morals" (1871), is a 
scholarly essay on the function of the brain. As a biographer Dr. Holmes has also 
. given us excellent memoirs of John Lothrop Motley, the historian, and Ralph 
Waldo Emerson. Among his later products may be mentioned " A Mortal Anti- 
pathy," which appeared in 1885, and "One Hundred Days in Europe" (1887). 

Holmes was one of the projectors of " The Atlantic Monthly," which was started 
in 1857, in conjunction with Longfellow, Lowell and Emerson, Lowell being its 
- editor. It was to this periodical that the " Autocrat " and " The Professor at the 
, Breakfast Table " were contributed. These papers did much to secure the perman- 
ent fame of this magazine. It is said that its name was suggested by Holmes, and 
he is also credited with first attributing to Boston the distinction of being the " Hub 
of the solar system," which he, with a mingling of humor and local pride, declared 
was " located exactly at the Boston State House." 

Unlike other authors, the subject of this sketch was very much himself at all 
times and under all conditions. Holmes the man. Holmes the professor of physio- 
logy, the poet, philosopher, and essayist, were all one and the same genial soul. 
His was the most companionable of men, whose warm flow of fellowship and good 
cheer the winters of four score years and five could not chill, — " The last Leaf on 
the Tree," whose greenness the frost could not destroy. He passed away at the age 
of eighty-five still verdantly young in spirit, and the world will smile for many 
generations good naturedly because he lived. Such lives are a benediction to the race. 
Finally, to know Holmes' writings well, is to be made acquainted with a singularly 
lovable nature. The charms of his personality are irresistible. Among the poor, 
among the literary, and among the society notables, he was ever the most welcome 
of guests. His geniality, humor, frank, hearty manliness, generosity and readiness 



356 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



to amuse and be amused, together with an endless store of anecdotes, his tact and 
union of sympathy and originality, make him the best of companions for an hour 
or for a lifetime. His frieudshij) is generous and enduring. All of these qualities 
of mind and heart are felt as the reader runs through his poems or his prose writ- 
ings. We feel that Holmes has lived widely and found life good. It is precisely 
for this reason that the reading of his writings is a good tonic. It sends the blood 
more courageously through the veins. After reading Holmes, we feel that life is 
easier and simpler and a finer affair altogether and more worth living for than we 
had been wont to regard it. 

The following paragraph published in a current periodical shortly after the death 
of Mr. Holmes throws further light upon the personality of this distinguished 
author : 

" Holmes himself must have harked back to forgotten ancestors for his brightness. 
His father was a dry as dust Congregational preacher, of whom some one said that 
he fed his people sawdust out of a spoon. But from his childhood Holmes was 
bright and popular. One of his college friends said of him at Harvard, that ' he 
made you think you were the best fellow in the world, and he was the next best.' '' 

Dr. Holmes was first and foremost a conversationalist. He talked even on paper. 
There was never the dullness of the written word. His sentences whether in prose 
or verse were so full of color that they bore the charm of speech. 

One of his most quoted poems " Dorothy Q," is full of this sparkle, and carries 
a suggestion of his favorite theme : 

f 

Grandmother's mother : her age I guess • * 

Thirteen summers, or something less ; 

GirUsh bust, but womanly air ; 

Smooth, square forehead with uprolled L«ir; 

Lips that lover has never kissed ; 

Taper fingers and slender wrist ; 

Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade ; 

So they painted the little maid. 

:i: * * * »• 

"What if a hundred years ago 

Those close shut Ups had answered No, 

When forth the tremulous question came 

That cost the maiden her Norman name, 

And under the folds that looked so still 

The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill? 

Should I be I, or would it be 

One tenth another to nine tenths me '? 



I 



I 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



357 



BILL AND JOE. 




OME, dear old comrade, you and I 
Will steal an hour from days g;one by- 
The shining days when life was new, 
And all was bright as morning dew, 

The lusty days of long ago, 

When you were Bill and I was Joe. 

Your name may flaunt a titled trail, 
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail : 
And mine as brief appendix wear 
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare ; 
To-day, old friend, remember still 
That I am Joe and you are Bill. 

Vou've-won the great world's envied prize. 

And grand you look in people's eyes, 

With HON. and LL.D., 

In big brave letters, fair to see — 

Your fist, old fellow ! off they go ! — 

How are you, Bill ? How are you, Joe ? 

You've worn the judge's ermined robe ; 
You've taught your name to half the globe; 
You've sung mankind a deathless strain ; 
You've made the dead past live again ; 
The world may call you what it wUl, 
But you and I are Joe and Bill. 

The chaffing young folks stare and say, 

" See those old buffers, bent and gray ; 

They talk like fellows in their teens ! 

Mad, poor old boys ! That's what it means"- 

And shake their heads ; they httle know 

The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe — 



How Bill forgets his hour of pride, 
While Joe sits smiling at his side ; 
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, 
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes — 
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill 
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 

Ah, pensive scholar ! what is fame ? 

A fitful tongue of leaping flame ; 

A giddy whirlwind's tit-kle gust, 

That lifts a pinch of mortal dust ; 

A few swift years, and who can show 

Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe? 

The weary idol takes his stand, 

Holds out his bruised and aching hand. 

While gaping thousands come and go — 

How vain it seems, this empty show — 

Till all at once his pulses thrill : 

'Tis poor old Joe's " God bless you, Bill !" 

And shall we breathe in happier spheres 
The names that pleased our mortal ears, — 
In some sweet lull of harp and song, 
For earth-born spirits none too long, 
Just whisjiering of the world below, 
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe? 

No matter ; while our home Ls here 
No sounding name is half so dear ; 
When fades at length our lingering day. 
Who cares what pompous tombstones say ? 
Bead on the hearts that love us still 
Mi'c jacet Joe. Hie jacet Bill. 



UNION AND LIBERTY. 




LAG of the heroes who left us their glory. 
Borne through their battle-fields' thun- 
der and flame, 
Blazoned in song and illuminated in story, 
Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame. 
Up with our banner bright. 
Sprinkled with starry light. 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore. 
While through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation's cry — 
Union and Liberty ! One Evermore ! 

Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation, 
Pride of her children, and honored afar. 

Let the wide beams of thy full constellation 
Scatter each cloud that would darken a star ! 

Empire unsceptred I What foe shall assail thee 
Bearing the standard of Liberty's van ? 



Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee, 
Striving with men for the birthright of man ! 

Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted, 

Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must 
draw. 

Then with the arms to thy million united. 
Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law ! 

Lord of the universe ! shield us and guide us. 

Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun ! 
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us'? 
Keep us, keep us the Many in One ! 

Up with our banner bright, 

Sprinkled with starry light, 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 

While through the sounding sky 

Loud rings the Nation's cry — 
Union and Liberty! One Evermore! 



358 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



OLD IRON SIDES. 

The following poem lias become a National Lyric. It was first printed in the "Boston Daily Adverti:er," 
when the Frigate "Constitution" lay in the navy-yard at Charlestown. The department had resolved 
upon breakingher up ; but she was preserved from this fate by the following verses, which ran through tha 
newspapers with universal applause; and, according to "Benjamin's American Monthly Magazine," of 
January, 1837, it was printed in the form of hand-bills, and circulated in the city of Washington . 




Y. tear her tatter'd ensign down ! 
Long has it waved on high. 
And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar : 
The meteor of the ocean air 
Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 
Where knelt the vanquish'd foe, 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 
And waves were white below. 



No more shall feel the victor's tread. 
Or know the conquer'd knee ; 

The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
The eagle of the sea ! 

0, better that her shatter'd hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 

And there should be her grave ; 
Nail to the mast her holy flag. 

Set every threadbare sail. 
And give her to the god of storms, — 

The lightnino; and the gale ! 



MY AUNT. 




Y aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! 
Long years have o'er her flown ; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 
That binds her virgin zone ; 
I know it hurts her, — though she looks 

As cheerful as she can ; 
Her waist is ampler than her life. 
For life is but a span. 

My aunt, my poor deluded aunt ! 

Her hair is almost gray ; 
Why will she train that winter curl 

In such a spring-like way '? 
How can she lay her glasses down, 

And say she reads as well. 
When, through a double convex lens, 

She just makes out to spell ? 

Her father — grandpapa ! forgive 

This erring lip its smiles — 
Vow'd she would make the finest girl 

Within a hundred miles. 
He sent her to a stylish school ; 

'Twas in her thirteenth June ; 
And with her, as the rules required, 

" Two towels and a spoon," 



They braced my aunt against a boar(6. 

To make her straight and tall ; 
They laced her up, they starved her AjlTH, 

To make her light and small ; 
They pinch'd her feet, they singed her hair. 

They screw'd it up with pins. — • 
Oh, never mortal suffer'd more 

In penance for her .sins. 

So, when my precious aunt was done. 

My grandsire brouglit her back 
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth 

Might follow on the track) ; 
" Ah ! " said my grandsire, as he shook 

Some powder in his pan, 
"What could this lovely creature do 

Against a desperate man ! '' 

Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche. 

Nor bandit cavalcade 
Tore from the trembling father's arms 

His all-accomplish d maid. 
For her how happy had it been ! 

And Heaven had spared to me 
To see one sad, ungather'd rose 

On my ancestral tree. 




THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. 



WROTE some lines once on a time 
In wondrous merry mood. 
And thought, as usual, men would say 
They were exceeding good. 



They were so queer, so very queei 
I laugh'd as I would die ; 

Albeit, in the general way, 
A sober man am I. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



359 



I call'd my servant, and he came : 
How kind it was of him, 

To mind a slender man like me, 
He of the mighty limb ! 

" These to the printer," I exclaim'd. 
And. in my humorous way, 

I added (as a trifling jest), 

" There'll be the devil to pay." 

He took the paper, and I watch'd, 
And saw him peep within ; 

At the first line he read, his face 
Was all upon the grin. 



He read the next ; the grin grew broad. 

And shot from ear to ear ; 
He read the third ; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

The fourth ; he broke into a roar; 

The fifth, his waistband split ; 
The sixth, he burst five buttons oflF, 

And tumbled in a fit. 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 
I watch'd that wretched man, 

And since, I never dare to write 
As funny as I can. 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 




JHIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign. 
Sails the unshadow'd main, — 
The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled 
wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming 
hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wreek'd is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chamber'd cell. 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell. 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. 

Before thee lies reveal'd, — 
Its iris'd ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unseal'd ! 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 



Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door. 
Stretch 'd in his last-found home, and knew the old 



Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea. 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice 
that sings: — 

Build thee more stately mansions, my soul, 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 

Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 



OLD AGE AND THE PROFESSOR. 



Mr. Holmes is as famous for his prose as for his poetry, 
happy and varied style. 



The following sketches are characteristic of hia 




|LD AGE, this is Mr. Professor ; Mr. Pro- 
fessor, this is Old Age. 

Old Age. — Mr. Professor, I hope to see 
you well. I have known you for some time, though 
I think you did not know me. Shall we walk down 
the street together ? 

Professor (drawing back a little). — We can talk 
more quietly, perhaps, in my study. Will you tell 



me how it is you seem to be acquainted with every- 
body you are introduced to, though he evidently con- 
siders you an entire stranger ? 

Old Age. — I make it a rule never to force myself 
upon a person's recognition until I have known him 
at least five years. 

Professor. — Do you mean to say that you haTs 
known me so long as that? 



360 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



Old Age. — I do. I left my card on you longer 
ago than that, but I am afraid you never read it ; 
yet I see you have it with you. 

Professor. — Where ? 

Old Age. — There, between your eyebrows, — three 
straight lines running up and down ; all the probate 
courts know that token, — •' Old Age, his mark." Put 
your forefinger on the inner end of one eyebrow, and 
your middle finger on the inner end of the other e3'e- 
brow ; now separate the fingers, and you will smooth 
out my sign manual ; that's the way you used to look 
before I left my card on you. 

Professor.- — What message do people generally send 
back when you first call on them ? 



Old Age. — Not at home. Then I leave a card 
and go. Next year I call ; get the same answer ; 
leave another card. So for five or six — sometimes 
ten — years or more. At last, if they don't let me in, 
I break in through the front door or the windows. 

We talked together in this way some time. Then 
Old Age said again, — Come, let us walk down the 
street together, — and oflFered me a cane, — an eye-glass, 
a tippet, and a pair of overshoes. — No, much obliged 
to you, said I. I don't want those things, and I had 
alittle rather talk with you here, privately, in mystudy. 
So I dressed myself up in a jaunty way and walked 
out alone ; — got a fall, caught a cold, was laid up with a 
lumbago, and had time to think over this whole matter. 



MY LAST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 




CAN'T say just how many walks she and 
I had taken before this one. I found 
the effect of going out every morning was 
decidedly favorable on her health. Two pleasing 
dimples, the places for which were just marked when 
she came, played, shadowy, in her freshening cheeks 
when she smiled and nodded good-morning to me 
from the schoolhouse steps. * * * 

The schoolmistress had tried life. Once in a while 
one meets with a single soul greater than all the 
living pageant that passes before it. As the pale 
astronomer sits in his study with sunken eyes and 
thin fingers, and weighs Uranus or Neptune as in a 
balance, so there are meek, slight women who have 
weighed all which this planetary life can offer, and 
hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender 
hands. This was one of them. Fortune had left 
her, sorrow had baptized her ; the routine of labor 
.and the loneliness of almost friendless city -life were 
'before her. Yet, as I looked upon her tranquil face, 
gradually regaining a cheerfulness which was often 
sprightly, as she became interested in the various 
matters we talked about and places we visited, I 
saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament 
were made for love, — unconscious of their sweet ofiice 
as yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the 
natural graces which were meant for the reward of 
nothing less than the Great Passion. 



It was on the Common that we were walking. 
The mall, or boulevard of our Common, you know 
has various branches leading from it in different 
directions. One of these runs downward from oppo- 
site Joy Street southward across the whole length of 
the Common to Boylston Street. We called it the 
long path, and were fond of it. 

I felt very weak indeed (though of a tolerably 
robust habit) as we came oppo.site the head of this 
path on that morning. I think I tried to speak twice 
without making myself distinctly audible. At last I 
got out the question, — Will you take the long path 
with me ? Certainly, — said the schoolmistress, — with 
much pleasure. Think, — I said, — before you answer: 
if you take the long path with me now, I shall in- 
terpret it that we are to part no more ! The school- 
mistress stepped back with a sudden movement, as if 
an arrow had struck her. 

One of the long granite blocks used as seats was 
hard by, — the one you may still see close by the 
Gingko-tree. Pray, sit down, — I said. No, no, — she 
answered softly, — I will walk the long path with 
you! 

The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walk- 
ing, arm in arm, about the middle of the long path, 
and said, very charmingly, — " Good-morning, mj 
dears!" 



^ 



j] iiiiiiMiiiiiiiiitiniiiiMiiniiiii.iMMiiMMiiiiiiniiininMmiiiiiiirim 



HIr j L^ LI) Cfli C^ (^ (^ v» (!» a o ^^ 15 a t:^ t3 15 a t?! (3 !?> a C?) <3 (g> a && ig>_0 m3 a a ^> ^> '^ 



Tin /in --in /in /f, /IN .'IN /IN /In /in /in /i\_/1n„/1n../1n,.1-.,..1n_/i-. > 

. /In .-I-. /IN /!-■ /IN /IS./I'. /!-■ /l-.,/|-../l\./|-...^N_/|-._/l-...^N 



E isa <.Mi a'o aiiii a j o i"j> a q liiji a a u m i.j) u <-i< ij i a cj m u < »i a u lanj u ui ci>a Q 

^IllllllllllHlllllNliiiliilllNiliiliriiiiiiiiHliilMllirlHinirillilllllllllllnllllllllllI iiiiiiiiiiininlllllllllllllliniimilllliuilliui 



=?=a 



^=^ 



JAMES KUSSELL LOWELL. 




POET, CRITIC, AND ESSAYIST. 

HILE the popularity of Lowell has not been so great as that of Whit- 
tier, Longfellow or Holmes, his poetry expresses a deeper thought 
and a truer culture than that of any one of these ; or, indeed, of any 
other American poet, unless the exception be the "transcendental 
philosopher," Emerson. As an anti-slavery poet, he was second 
only to Whittier. 

James Russell Lowell was born in Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1819, and 
died in the same city on August 12, 1891, in the seventy-third year of his age. He 
was the youngest son of the Rev. Charles Lowell, an eminent Congregational clergy- 
man, and was descended from the English settlers of 1639. He entered Harvard 
in his seventeenth year and graduated in 1838, before he was twenty. He began 
to write verses early. In his junior year in college he wrote the anniversary poem, 
and, in his senior year, was editor of the college magazine. Subsequently, he 
studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1840; but, it seems, never entered 
upon the practice of his profession. If he did it is doubtful if he ever had even 
that^^rs^ client whom he afterwards described in a humorous sketch. 

His first appearance in literature was the publication, in 1839, of the class poem 
which he had written, but was not permitted to recite on account of his temporary 
suspension from College for neglect of certain studies in the curriculum for which he 
had a distaste. In this poem he satirized the Abolitionists, and the transcendental 
echool of writers, of which Emerson was the prophet and leader. This poem, while 
faulty, contained much sharp wit and an occasional burst of feeling which por- 
tended future prominence for its author. 

Two years later, in 1841, the first volume of Lowell's verse appeared, entitled 
"A Year's Life." This production was so different from that referred to above that 
critics would have regarded it as emanating from an entirely different mind had not 
the same name been attached to both. It illustrated entirely different feelings, 
thoughts and habits, evinced a complete change of heart and an entire revolution in 
his mode of thinking. His observing and suggestive imagination had caught the 
tone and spirit of the new and mystical philosophy, which his first publication had 
ridiculed. Henceforth, he aimed to make Nature the representative and minister 
of his feelings and desires. Lowell was not alone, however, in showing how capri- 
cious a young author's character may be. A notable parallel is found in the great 

361 



362 



JAMES RUSSELI, IX5WELL. 



Englishman, Uarlyle whose " Life of Schiller " and his " Sator Resartus," are 
equally as unlike himself as were Lowell's first two publications. In 1844, came 
another volume of poems, manifesting a still further mark of advancement. The 
longest in this collection — " The Legend of Brittany " — is, in imagination and artis- 
tic finish, one of his best anil secured the first general consent for the author's 
admission into the company of men of genius. 

During this same year (1844) Mr. Lowell married the poetess, Maria White, an 
ardent Abolitionist, whose anti-slavery convictions influenced his after career. Two 
of Mrs. Lowell's poems, " The Alpine Sheep " and the " Morning Glory " are 
especially popular. Lowell was devotedly attached to his singularly beautiful and 




HOME OF JAMES RITSSELL LOWELL, CAMBRIDGE. MASS. 



sympathetic poet wife and made her the subject of some of his most exquisite verses. 
They were both contributors to the " Liberty Bell " and " Anti-slavery Standard, 
thus enjoying companionship in their labors. 

In 1845, appeared Lowell's " Conversation on Some Old Poets," consisting of a 
series of criticisms, and discussions which evince a careful and delicate study. This 
was the beginning of the critical work in which he afterward became so famous, that 
he was styled " The First Critic of America." 

Lowell was also a humorist by nature. His irrepressible perception of the comi- 
cal and the funny find expression everywhere, both in his poetry and prose. Hifl 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 363 

"Fable for Critics" was a delight to those whom he both satirized and criticised in a 
good-natured manner. Bryant, Poe, Hawthorne and Whittier, each are made to pass 
in procession for their share of criticism — which is as excellent as amusing — and 
Carlyle and Emerson are contrasted admirably. This poem, however, is ftiulty in 
execution and does not do its author justice. His masterpiece in humor is the famous 
"Biglow Papers." These have been issued m two parts; the first being inspired by 
Uie Mexican War, and the latter by the Civil War between the states. Hosea Biglow, 
Uie country Yankee philosopher and supposed author of the papers, and the Rev. 
Uomer Wilber, his learned commentator and pastor of the first church at Jaalem, 
reproduce the Yankee dialect, and portray the Yankee character as faithfully as 
they are amusing and funny to the reader. 

In 1853, Mrs. Lowell died, on the same night in which a daughter was born to the 
poet Longfellow, who was a neighbor and a close friend to Lowell. The coincident 
inspired Longfellow to write a beautiful poem, " The Two Angels," which he sent 
to Mr. Lowell with his expression of symjjathy : 

" 'Twas at thy door, friend, and not at mine 

The angel with the amaranthine wreath. 
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine 

Uttered a word that had a sound hke death. 

" Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom. 

A shaddow on those features fair and thin, 
And slowly, from that hushed and darkened room. 

Two angels issued, where but one went in. 

" Angels of life and death alike are His ; 

Without His leave, they pass no threshold o'er: 
Who then would wish, or dare, believing this, 

Against His messengers to shut the door?" 

Quite in contrast with Lowell, the humorist, is Lowell, the serious and dignified 
author. His patriotic poems display a courage and manliness in adhering to the 
right and cover a wide range in history. But it is in his descriptions of nature 
that his imagination manifests its greatest range of subtilty and power. "The 
Vision of Sir Launfal" is, perhaps, more remarkable for its descriptions of the 
months of June and December than for the beautiful story it tells of the search for 
the " Holy Grail " (the cup) which held the wine which Christ and the Apostles 
drank at the last supjjer. 

Lowell's prose writings consist of his contributions to magazines, which were 
afterwards gathered in book form, and his public addresses and his political essays. 
He was naturally a poet, and his prose writings were the outgrowth of his daily 
labors, rather than a work of choice. As a professor of modern languages in Har- 
vard College (in which position he succeeded the poet Longfellow) ; as editor of the 
"Atlantic Monthly," on which duty he entered at the beginning of that magazine, 
in 1857, his editorial work on the " North American Review " from 1863 to 1872, 
together with his political ministry in Spain and England, gave him, he says, " quite 
enough prosaic work to do." 



364 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

It was to magazines tliat he first contributed " Fireside Travels," " Among My 
Books," and " My Study Window," whicli have been since published in book form. 
These publications cover a wide field of literature and impress the reader with a 
spirit of inspiration and enthusiasm. Lowell, like Emerson and Longfellow, was 
an optimist of the most pronounced type. In none of his writings does he express 
a syllable of discontent or despair. His " Pictures from Appledore " and " Under 
the Willows " are not more sympathetic and spontaneous than his faith in mankind, 
his healthful nature, and his rosy and joyful hope of the future. 

In 1877, Mr. Lowell was ajipoiuted minister to Spain by President Hayes, and, 
in 1880, was transferred, in the same capacity to London. This position he 
resigned in 1885 and returned to America to resume -his lectures in Harvard Uni- 
versity. While in England, Mr. Lowell was lionized as no other minister at that 
time had been and was in great demand as a public lecturer and speaker. Oliver 
Wendell Holmes thus writes of his popularity with the " British Cousins:" 

By what enchantment, what aHuring arts. 

Our truthful James led captive British hearts, — 

* ^ :(: :i: :i; :}: 

Like honest Yankees we can simply guess ; 
But that he did it, all must needs confess." 

He delivered a memorial address at the unveiling of the bust of the poet Coleridge 
in Westminster Abbey. On his return to America, this oration was included with 
others in his volume entitled " Democracy and Other Addresses." (1887). 

As a public man, a representative of the United States Government, in foreign 
ports, he upheld the noblest ideals of the republic. He taught the purest lessons of 
patriotism — ever preferring his country to his party — and has criticised, with 
energy, and indignation, political evils and selfishness in public service, regarding 
these as the most dangerous elements threatening the dignity and honor of American 
citizenship. 

Among scholars, Lowell, next to Emerson, is regarded the profoundest of American 
poets; and, as the public becomes more generally educated, it is certain that he will 
grow in popular favor. To those who understand and catch the spirit of the man, 
noticeable characteristics of his writings are its richness and variety. He is at once, 
a humorist, a philosopher, and a dialectic verse writer, an essayist, a critic, and a 
masterful singer of songs of freedom as well as of the most majestic memorial odes. 

Unlike Longfellow and Holmes, Lowell never wrote a novel ; but his insight into 
character and ability to delineate it would have made it entirely possible for him to 
assay, successfully, this branch of literature. This power is seen especially in his 
"Biglow Papers" as well as in other of his character sketches. The last of 
Lowell's works published was " Latest Literary Essays and Addresses," issued in 
1892, after his death. 




^T•^ 



k^ 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 



365 



THE GOTHIC GENIUS. 




FROM " THE 
SEEM to have heard it said by learned folk, 
Who drench you with aesthetics till you feel 
As if all beauty were a ghastly bore, 
The faucet to let loose a wash of words, 
That Gothic is not Grecian, therefore worse ; 
But, being convinced by much experiment 
How little inventiveness there is in man. 
Grave copier of copies, I give thanks 
For a new relish, careless to inquire 
My pleasure's pedigree, if so it please — 
Nobly I mean, nor renegade to art. 
The Grecian gluts me with its perfectneas. 
Unanswerable as Euclid, self-contained. 
The one thing finished in this hasty world — 
For ever finished, though the barbaroxis pit. 
Fanatical on hearsay, stamp and shout 
As if a miracle could be encored. 



CATHEDRAL. 

But ah ! this other, this that never ends, 
Still climbing, luring Fancy still to climb, 
As full of morals half divined as Ufe, 
Graceful, grotesque, with ever-new surprise 
Of hazardous caprices sure to please ; 
Heavy as nightmare, airy-light as fern, 
Imagination's very self in stone ! 
With one long sigh of infinite release 
From pedantries past, present, or to come, 
I looked, and owned myself a happy Goth. 
Your blood is mine, ye architects of dream, 
Builders of aspiration incomplete, 
So more consummate, souls self-confident. 
Who felt your own thought worthy of record 
In monumental pomp ! Xo Grecian drop 
Rebukes these veins that leap with kindred thrill, 
After long exile, to the mother tongue. 



THE ROSE. 



I. 




N his tower sat the poet 

Gazing on the roaring sea, 
" Take this rose," he sighed, ''and throw it 
Where there's none that loveth me. 
On the rock the billow bursteth, 
And sinks back into the seas. 
But in vain my spirit thirsteth 
So to burst and be at ease. 

Take, sea ! the tender blossom 

That hath lain against my breast ; 
On thy black and angry bosom 

It will find a surer rest. 
Life is vain, and love is hollow. 

Ugly death stands there behind. 
Hate, and scorn, and hunger follow 

Him that toileth for his kind." 

Forth into the night he hurled it. 

And with bitter smile did mark 
How the surly tempest whirled it 

Swift into the hungry dark. 
Foam and spray drive back to leeward, 

And the gale, with dreary moan. 
Drifts the helpless blossom seaward. 

Through the breaking, all alone. 

II. 

Stands a maiden, on the morrow. 
Musing by the wave-beat strand, 



Half in hope, and half in sorrow 
Tracing words upon the sand : 
" Shall I ever then behold him 

Who hath been my life so long, — 
Ever to this sick heart fold him, — 
Be the spirit of his song ? 

" Touch not, sea, the blessed letters 

I have traced upon thy shore. 
Spare his name whose spirit fetters 

Mine with love forever more ! " 
Swells the tide and overflows it, 

But with omen pure and meet, 
Brings a little rose and throws it 

Humbly at the maiden's feet. 

Full of bliss she takes the token, 

And, upon her snowy breast. 
Soothes the ruffled petals broken 

With the ocean's fierce unrest. 
" Love is thine, heart ! and surely 

Peace shall also be thine own, 
For the heart that trusteth purely 

Never long can pine alone." 

III. 

In his tower sits the poet, 

Blisses new, and strange to him 

Fill his heart and overflow it 
With a wonder sweet and dim. 



366 



JAMES KUSSELL LOWELL. 



Up the beach the ocean sl^deth 
With a whisper of delight, 

And the moon in silence irhdeth 

Through the peaceful blue of night. 

EippHng o'er the poet's shoulder 
Flows a maiden's golden hair, 

Maiden lips, with love grown bolder, 
Kiss his moonlit forehead bare. 
" Life is joy. and love is power. 
Death all fetters doth unbind, 



Strength and wisdom only flower 
When we toil for all our kind. 

Hope is truth, the future giveth 

More than present takes away, 
And the soul forever Uveth 

Nearer God from day to day." 
Not a word the maiden muttered. 

Fullest hearts are slow to speak, 
But a withered rose-leaf fluttered 

Down upon the poet's cheek. 



THE HERITAGE. 




HE rich man's son inherits lands. 

And pUes of brick, and stone, and gold, 
And he inherits soft white hands, 

And tender flesh that fears the cold. 
Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 
One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 



The rich man's son inherits cares ; 

The bank may break, the factory bum, 

A breath may burst his bubble shares. 
And soft, white hands could hardly earn 
A living that would serve his turn ; 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 

The rich man's son inherits wants. 
His stomach craves for dainty fare ; 

With sated heart he hears the pants 
Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare. 
And wearies in his easy chair ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man's son inherit? 

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ; 

King of two hands, he does his part 

In every useful toil and art ; 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
Wishes o'eijoy'd with humble things, 
A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit, 



Content that from employment spring*, 
A heart that in his labor sings ; 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man's son inherit? 
A patience learn'd of being poor, 

Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
A fellow-feeling that is sure 
To make the outcast bless his door; 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

O rich man's son ! there is a toil. 
That with all others level stands ; 

Large charity doth never soil, 

But only whiten, soft, white hands,— 
This is the best crop from thy lands ; 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

Worth being rich to hold in fee. 

O poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; 
There is worse weariness than thine, 

In merely being rich and great ; 
Toil only gives the soul to shine, 
And makes rest fragrant and benign; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

Worth being poor to hold in fee. 

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, 
Are equal in the earth at last ; 

Both, children of the same dear God, 
Prove title to your heirship vast 
By record of a well-fill'd past ; 

A heritage, it seems to me. 

Well worth a life to hold in fee. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 
ACT FOR TRUTH. 



367 




HE busy world shoves angrily aside 

The man who stands with arms akimbo set, 
Until occasion tells him what to do ; 
And he who waits to have his task mark'd 
out 
Shall die and leave his errand unfulfill'd. 
Our time is one that calls for earnest deeds ; 
Reason and Government, like two broad seas, 
Yearn for each other with outstretched arms 
Across this narrow isthmus of the throne, 
And roll their white surf higher every day. 
One age moves onward, and the next builds up 
Cities and gorgeous palaces, where stood 
The rude log huts of those who tamed the wild, 
Rearing from out the forests they had fell'd 
The goodly framework of a fairer state ; 
The builder's trowel and the settler's axe 
Are seldom wielded by the selfsame hand ; 
Onrs is the harder task, yet not the less 
Shall we receive the blessing for our toil 
From the choice spirits of the after-time. 
The field lies wide before us, where to reap 
The easy harvest of a deathless name, 
Though with no better sickles than our swords. 
My soul is not a palace of the past. 
Where outworn creeds, like Rome's gray senate, 

quake, 
Hearing afar the Vandal's trumpet hoarse, 
That shakes old systems with a thunder-fit. 
The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, fir change ; 
Then let it come ; I have no dread of what 



Is call'd for by the instinct of mankind ; 

Nor think I that God's world will fall ajiart 

Because we tear a parchment more or less. 

Truth is eternal, but her effluence, 

With endless change, is fitted to the hour ; 

Her mirror is turn d forward, to reflect 

The promise of the future, not the p:ist. 

He who would win the name of truly great 

Must understand his own age and the next, 

And make the present ready to fulfil . 

Its prophecy, and with the future merge 

Gentl}' and peacefully, as wave with wave. 

The future works out great men's destinies; 

The present is enough for common souls. 

Who, never looking forward, are indeed 

Mere clay wherein the footprints of their age 

Are petrified forever : better those 

Who lead the blind old giant by the hand 

From out the pathless desert where he gropes, 

And set him onward in his darksome way. 

I do not fear to follow out the truth. 

Albeit along the precipice's edge. 

Let us speak plain : there is more force in names 

Than most men dream of; and a lie may keep 

Its throne a whole age longer if it skulk 

Behind the shield of some fair-seeming name. 

Let us all call tyrants tyrants, and maintain 

That only freedom comes by grace of God, 

And all that comes not by His grace must fall ; 

For men in earnest have no time to waste 

In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth. 



THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. 




HE snow had begun in the gloaming. 
And busily all the night 
Had been heaping field and highway 
With a silence deep and white. 



Every pine and fir and hemlock 
Wore ermine too dear for an earl. 

And the poorest twig on the elm-tree 
Was ridged inch deep with pearl. 

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara 
Came Chanticleer's mufl3ed crow. 

The stiff rails were softened to swan's down, 
And still fluttered down the snow. 

I stood and watched by the window 

The noiseless work of the sky, 
And the sudden flurries of spow-birds, 

Like brown leaves whirhng by. 



I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn 
Where a little headstone stood ; 

How the flakes were folding it gently. 
As did robins the babes in the wood. 

Up spoke our own Uttle Mabel, 

Saying, " Father, who makes it sno^?" 
And I told of the good All-father 

Who cares for us here below. 

Again I looked at the snow-fall 
And thought of the leaden sky 

That arched o'er our first great sorrow, 
When that mound was heaped so high. 

I remembered the gradual patience 
That fell from that cloud like snow, 

Flake by flake, healing and hiding 
The scar of our deep-plunged woe. 



368 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 



And agaiu to the child I whispered, 
" The snow that husheth all, 

Darling, the merciful Father 
Alone can make it fall !" 



Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; 

And she, kissing back, could not know 
That my kiss was given to her sister, 

Folded close under deepening snow. 



FOURTH OF JULY ODE. 




UR fathers fought for liberty, 

They struggled long and well, 
History of their deeds can tell- 
But did they leave us free ? 



Are we free from vanity, 

Free from pride, and free from self, 
Free from love of power and pelf, 

From everything that's beggarly ? 



Are we free from stubborn will. 
From low hate and malice small. 
From opinion's tyrant thrall ? 

Are none of us our own slaves still ? 



Are we free to speak our thought, 
To be happy, and be poor. 
Free to enter Heaven s door, 

To live and labor as we ought ? 



Are we then made free at last 
From the fear of what men say. 
Free to reverence To-day, 

Free from the slavery of the Past? 

VI. 

Our fathers fought for liberty, 
They struggled long and well. 
History of their deeds can tell — 

But ourselves must set us free. 



THE DANDELIONS. 




EAR common flower, that grow'st beside the 
way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold. 
First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found. 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth — thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas. 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 

'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand. 

Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The ofiFer'd wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my trophies and mine Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time ; 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirass'd bee 
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 
In the white lily's breezy tint. 
His conquer'd Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 



Then think I of deep shadows on the grass — 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze. 

Where, as the breezes pass. 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways — 

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass. 
Or whiten in the wind — of waters blue 

That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap — and of a sky above. 
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are Unk'd with 
thee ; 
The .sight of thee calls back the robin's song. 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listen'd as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he did bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears. 
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 

How like a prodigal doth Nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art 1 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart. 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe. 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living 'pages of God's book. 



~ij 



^ 













I 



^ 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 




"the hoosier poet. 

O poet of the modern times has obtained a greater poj^ularity with the 
masses than the Indianian, James Whitcomb Riley, who has recently 
obtained the rank of a National Poet, and whose temporary hold 
upon the people equals, if it does not exceed, that of any living 
verse writer. The productions of this author have crystallized 
certain features of life that will grow in value as time goes by. 
In reading "The Old Swimmin' Hole," one almost feels the cool refreshing water 
touch the thirsty skin. And such poems as "Griggsby's Station," "Airly Days," 
"When the Frost is on the Punkin," "That Old Sweetheart of INIine," and others, 
go straight to the heart of the reader with a mixture of pleasant recollections, ten- 
derness, humor, and sincerity, that is most delightful in its eflfect. 

Mr. Riley is particularly a poet of the country people. Though he was not 
raised on a farm himself, he had so completely imbibed its atmosphere that his 
readers would scarcely believe he was not the veritable Benjamin F. Johnston, the 
simple-hearted Boone County farmer, whom he honored with the authorship of his 
early poems. To every man who has been a country boy and "played hookey" on 
the school-master to go swimming or fishing or bird-nesting or stealing water-melons, 
or simply to lie on the orchard grass, many of Riley's poems come as an echo from 
his own experiences, bringing a vivid and pleasingly melodious retrospect of the past. 
Mr. Riley's "Child Verses" are equally as famous. There is an artless catching 
sing-song in his verses, not unlike the jingle of the "Mother Goose Melodies." 
Especially fine in their faithfulness to child-life, and in easy rythm, are the pieces 
describing "Little Orphaut Annie " and "The Raggedy Man." 

An' Little Orphant Annie says, wten the blaze is blue, 
An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo ! 
An' you hear the crickets" quit, an' the moon is gray, 
An' the lightnin'-bug in dew is all squenched away, — 
You better mind yer parents and yer teacher fond an' dear, 
An' cherish them 'at loves you and dry the orphant's tear. 

An' he'p the poor an' needy ones 'at cluster all about, 

Er the gobble-uns '11 git you 

Ef you — don't — watch — -out. 

James Whitcomb Riley was born in Greenfield, Indiana, in 1853. His father 
was a Quaker, and a leading attorney of that place, and desired to make a lawyer 
24 369 



370 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

of his son; but Mr. Riley tells us, "Whenever I picked up 'Blackstone' or 'Green- 
leaf,' my wits went to wool-gathering, and my father was soon convinced that his hopes 
of my achieving greatness at the bar were doomed to disappointment." Referring to 
his education, the poet further says, " I never had much schooling, and what I did 
get, I believe did me little good. I never could master mathematics, and history 
was a dull and juiceless thing to me ; but I always was fond of reading in a random 
way, and took naturally to the theatrical. I cannot remember when I was not a 
declaimer, and I began to rhyme almost as soon as I could talk." 

Riley's first occupation was as a sign painter for a patent-medicine man, with 
whom he traveled for a year. On leaving this employment he organized a company 
of sign j^ainters, with whom he traveled over the country giving musical entertain- 
ments and painting signs. In referring to this he says, "All the members of the 
company were good musicians as well as painters, and we used to drum up trade 
with our music. We kept at it for three or four years, made plenty of money, had 
lots of fun, and did no harm to ourselves or any one else. Of course, during this 
sign painting period, I was writing verses all the time, and finally after the GrajAic 
Company's last trip I secured a position on the weekly paper at Anderson." For 
many years Riley endeavored to have his verses published in various magazines, 
" sending them from one to another," he says, " to get them promptly back again." 
Finally, he sent some verses to the poet Longfellow, who congratulated him warmly, 
as did also Mr. Lowell, to whose " New England Dialectic Poems " Mr. Riley's 
"Hoosier Rhymes" bore a striking resemblance. From this time forward his 
success was assured, and, instead of hunting publishers, he has been kept more than 
busy in sujijjlying their eager demands upon his pen. 

Mr. Riley's methods of work are peculiar to himself. His poems are composed 
as he travels or goes about the streets, and, once they are thought out, he immediately 
stops and transfers them to paper. But he must work as the mood or muse moves 
him. He cannot be driven. On this point he says of himself, " It is almost impos- 
sible for me to do good work on orders. If I have agreed to complete a poem at a 
certain time, I cannot do it at all ; but when I can write without considering the 
future, I get along much better." He further says, with reference to writing dialect, 
that it is not his preference to do so. He prefers the recognized poetic form ; "but," 
he adds, " dialectic verse is natural and gains added charm from its very comraon- 
placeness. If truth and depiction of nature are wanted, and dialect is a touch of 
nature, then it should not be disregarded. I follow nature as closely as I can, and 
try to make my people think and speak as they do in real life, and such success as 
I have achieved is due to this." 

The first published work of the author was "The Old Swimmin' Hole" and; 
" 'Leven More Poems," which appeared in 1883. Since that date he published aj 
number of volumes. Among the most popular may be mentioned, " Armazindy," i 
which contains some of his best dialect and serious verses, including the famous Poe 
Poem, " Leonainie," written and published in early life as one of the lost poems of 
Poe, and on which he deceived even Poe's biographers, so accurate was he in 
mimicking the style of the author of the "Raven; " "Neighborly Poems;" "Sketches 
in Prose," originally published as "The Boss Girl and Other Stories;" "After- 
whiles," comprising sixty-two poems and sonnets, serious, pathetic, humorous and 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



371 



dialectic ; " Pipe? O' Pan," containing five sketches and fifty poems ; " Rhymes 
of Childhood ; " " Flying Islands of the Night," a weird and grotesque drama in 
verse ; " Green Fields and Running Brooks," comprising one hundred and two 
poems and sonnets, dialectic, humorous and serious. 

The poet has never married. He makes his home in Indianapolis, Indiana, with 
his sister, where his surroundings are of the most pleasant nature ; and he is scarcely 
less a favorite with the children of the neighborhood than was the renowned child 
poet, Eugene Field, at his home. The devotion of Mr. Riley to his aged parents, 
whose last days he made the happiest and brightest of their lives, has been repeatedly 
commented upon in the current notices of the poet. Mr. Riley has personality met 
more of the American people, perhaps, than any other living poet. He is constantly 
"on the wing." For about eight months out of every twelve for the past several 
years he has been on the lecture platform, and there are few of the more intelligent 
class of people in the leading cities of America, who have not availed themselves, 
at one time or another, to the treat of listening to his inimitable recitation of his 
poems. His short vacation in the summer — " his loafing days," as he calls them — 
are spent with his relatives, and it is on these occasions that the genial poet is found 
at his best. 



A BOY'S MOTHER* 



FROM " POEMS HERE AT HOME." 




Y mother ehe's so good to me, 
Ef I wuz good as I could be, 
I couldn't be as good — no, sir !- 
Can't any boy be good as her ! 



She loves me when I'm glad er sad ; 
She loves me when I'm good er bad ; 
An', what's a funniest thing, she says 
She loves me when she punishes. 

I don't like her to punish me. — 
That don't hurt, — but it hurts to see 



Her cryin'. — Nen I cry ; an' nen 
'We both cry an' be good again. 

She loves me when she cuts an' sews 
My little cloak an' Sund'y clothes ; 
An' when my Pa comes home to tea, 
She loves him most as much as me. 

She laughs an' tells him all I said. 
An' grabs me an' pats my head ; 
An' I hug her, an' hug my Pa, 
An' love him purt'-nigh much as Ma. 



THOUGHTS ON THE LATE "WAR.* 



FROM " POEMS HERE AT HOME. 




WAS for Union — you, ag'in' it. 
'Pears like, to me, each side was winner, 
Lookin' at now and all 'at 's in it. 
Le' 's go to dinner. 



Le' 's kind o' jes set down together 
And do some pardnership forgittin'— 
Talk, say, for instance, 'bout the weather. 
Or somepin' fittin'. 



The war, you know, 's all done and ended, 
And ain't changed no p'ints 0' the compass ; 
Both North and South the health 's jes' splendid 
As 'fore the rumpus. 

The old farms and the old plantations 
Still ockipies the'r old positions. 
Le' 's git back to old situations 

And old ambitions. 



* By Permission of the Century Co. 



372 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



Le' 's let up on this blame', infernal 
Tongue-lashin' and lap-jacket vauntin' 
And git back home to the eternal 

Ca'm we're a-wantin'. 



Peace kind o' sort o' suits my diet — 
When women does my cookin' for me, 
Ther' was n't overly much pie e', 
Durin' the army. 



OUR HIRED GIRL* 

FROM " POEMS HERE AT HOME." 




UR hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann ; 
An' she can cook best things to eat ! 
She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, 
An' pours in somepin' 'at 's good i 
sweet ; 
An' nen she salts it all on top 
With cinnamon ; an' nen she '11 stop 
An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, 
In th' old cook-stove, so 's 't wont slop 
An' git all spilled ; nen bakes it, so 
It 's custard-pie, first thing you know ! 
An' nen she '11 say, 
" Clear out o' my way ! 
They 's time fer work, an' time fer play ! 
Take yer dough, an' run, child, run ! 
Er I cain't git no cookin' done ! " 

When our hired girl 'tends like she 's mad, 
An' says folks got to walk the chalk 

When she's around, er wisht they had ! 
I play out on our porch an' talk 

To th' Raggedy Man 't mows our lawn ; 

An' he says, " Wheto .' " an' nen leans on 
His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes. 



An' sniffs all 'round an' says, " I swawn 1 
Ef my old nose don't tell me lies. 
It 'pears like I smell custard -pies ! " 
An' nen he 'II saj', 
" Clear out o' my way ! 
They 's time fer work, an' time fer play I 
Take yer dough, an' run, child, run ! 
Er she cain't git no cookin' done ! " 

Wunst our hired girl, when she 
Got the supper, an' we all et. 
An' it wuz night, an' Ma an' me 

An' Pa went wher' the " Social " met, — 
An' nen when we come home, an' see 
A light in the kitchen-door, an' we 

Heerd a maccordeun, Pa says, " Lan'- 
O'-Gracious ! who can her beau be?" 
An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann 
Wuz parchin' corn fer the Raggedy Man I 
Better say, 
" Clear out o' the way ! 
They 's time fer work, an' time fer play I 
Take the hint, an' run, child, run ! 
Er we cain't git no courtin' done ! " 



THE RAGGEDY MAN.* 

FROM " POEMS HERE AT HOME." 




THE Raggedy Man ! He works fer Pa ; 
An' he's the goodest man ever you saw ! 
He comes to our house every day. 
An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay : 
An' he opens the shed — an' we all ist laugh 
When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf ; 
An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — 
He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. — 
Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man ? 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 



"Wy, the Raggedy Man — he 's ist so good. 
He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood ; 
An' nen he spades in our garden, too. 
An' does most things 't hoys can't do. — 
He clumbed clean up in our big tree 
An' shooked a' apple down fer me — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — 
An' 'nother 'n', too, fer the Raggedy Man. — 
Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man ? 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 



An' the Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes, 
An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes : 
Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, 
An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves ! 
An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, 
He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 
'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can 
Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann ! 
Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man ? 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 



The Raggedy Man — one time, when he 
Wuz makin' a little bow'-n'-orry fer me, 
Says, " When you 're big like your Pa is, 
Air yoxi go' to keep a fine store like his — 
An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes?— 
Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows?" 
An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, 
An' I says, " 'M go' to be a Raggedy Man ! — 
I 'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man ! " 
Raggedy ! Raggedy ! Raggedy Man ! 
By permission of The Century Co. 




FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 



THE POET OF THE MINING CAMP AND THE WESTERN MOUNTAINS. 




HE turbulent mining: camps of California, with their vicious hangers- 
ou, have been embalmed for future generations by the unerring 
genius of Bret Harte, who sought to reveal the remnants of honor 
in man, and loveliness in woman, despite the sins and vices of the 
mining towns of our Western frontier thirty or forty years ago. His 
writings have been regarded with disfavor by a religious class of 
readers because of the frequent occurrence of rough phrases and even profanity 
which he employs in his descriptions. It should be remembered, however, that a 
faithful portrait of the conditious and people which he described could hardly have 
been presented in more polite language than that employed. 

Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York, in 1839. His father was a scholar 
of ripe culture, and a teacher in the Albany Female Seminary. He died poor when 
Bret was quite young, consequently the education of his son was conhned to the 
common schools of the city. When only seventeen years of age, young Harte, 
with his widowed mother, emigrated to California. Arriving in San Francisco he 
walked to the mines of Sonora and there opened a school which he taught foi- a 
short time. Thus began his self-education in the mining life which furnished the 
material for his early literature. After leaving his school he became a miner, and 
at odd times learned to set type in the office of one of the frontier papers. He wrote 
sketches of the strange life around him, set them up in type himself, and ofiered the 
proofs to the editor, believing that in this shape they would be more certain of 
acceptance. His aptitude with his pen secured him a position on the paper, and in 
the absence of the editor he once controlled the journal and incurred popular wrath 
for censuring a little massacre of Indians by the leading citizens of the locality, 
which came near bringing a mob upon him. 

The young adventurer, — for he was little else at this time, — also served as mounted 
messenger of an express company and as express agent in several mountain towns, 
which gave him a full knowledge of the picturesque features of mining life. In 
1857 he returned to San Francisco and secured a position as compositor on a weekly 
literary journal. Here again he repeated his former trick of setting up and sub- 
mitting several spirited sketches of mining life in type. These were accepted and 
soon earned him an editorial position on the " Golden Era." After this he made 
many contributions to the daily papers and his tales of Western life began to attract 
attention in the East. In 1858, he married, which put an end to his wanderings. 

373 




274 FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 

He attempted to publish a newspaper of his own, " The Californian," which was 
bright and worthy to live, but failed for want of proper business management. 

In 1864 Mr. Harte was appointed Secretary of the United States Branch Mint at 
San Francisco, and during his six years of service in this position found leisure to 
write some of his popular poems, such as " John Burns, of Gettysburg," " How Are 
You, Sanitary ? " and others, which were generally printed in the daily newspapers. 
He also became editor of the " Overland Monthly " when it was founded in 1868, 
and soon made this magazine as great a favorite on the Atlantic as on the Pacific 
Coast, by his contribution to its columns of a series of sketches of California life 
which have won a permanent place in literature. Among these sketches are " The 
Luck of Roaring Camp," telling how a baby came to rule the hearts of a rough, 
dissolute gang of miners. It is said that this masterj^iece, however, narrowly 
escaped the waste-basket at the hands of the proofreader, a woman, who, without 
noticing its origin, regarded it as utter trash. " The Outcast of Poker Flat," 
" Miggles," "Tennessee's Partner," "An Idyl of Red Gulch," and many other 
stories which revealed the spark of humanity remaining in brutalized men and 
women, followed in rapid succession. 

Bret Harte was a man of the most humane nature, and sympathized deeply with 
the Indian and the Chinaman in the rough treatment they received at the hands of the 
early settlers, and his literature, no doubt, did much to soften and mollify the actions 
of those who read them — and it may be safely said that almost every one did, as he 
was about the only author at that time on the Pacific Slope and very popular. His 
poem, "The Heathen Chinee," generally called "Plain Language from Truthful 
James," was a masterly satire against the hue and cry that the Chinese were shiftless 
and weak-minded settlers. This poem appeared in 1870 and was wonderfully 
popular. 

In the spring of 1871 the professorship of recent literature in the University of 
California was offered to Mr. Harte, on his resignation of the editorsliip of the 
" Overland Monthly," but he declined the proffer to try his literary fortunes in the 
more cultured East. He endeavored to found a magazine in Chicago, but his efforts 
failed, and he went to Boston to accept a position on the " Atlantic Monthly," since 
which time his pen has been constantly employed by an increasing demand from 
various magazines and literary journals. Mr. Harte has issued many volumes of 
prose and poetry, and it is difficult to say in which field he has won greater distinc- 
tion. Both as a prose writer and as a poet he has treated similar subjects with equal 
facility. His reputation was made, and his claim to fame rests upon his intuitive 
insight into the heart of our common humanity. A number of his sketches have 
been translated into French and German, and of late years he has lived much 
abroad, where he is, if any difference, more lionized than he was in his native 
country. 

From 1878 to 1885 Mr. Harte was United States Consul successively to Crefield 
and Glasgow. Ferdinand Freiligraph, one of his German translators, and himself 
a poet, pays this tribute to his peculiar excellence: 

" Nevertheless he remains what he is — the Californian and the gold-digger. But 
the gold for which he has dug, and which he found, is not the gold in the bed of 
rivers — not the gold in veins of mountains; it is the gold of love, of goodness, of 



FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 



375 



fidelity, of humanity, which even in rude and wild hearts — even under the rubbish 
of vices and sins — remains forever uneradicated from the human heart. That he 
there searched for this gold, that he found it there and triumphantly exhibited it to 
the world — that is his greatness and his merit." 

His works as published from 1867 to 1890 include " Condensed Novels," 
"Poems," "The Luck of Roaring Camp and Other Sketches," "East and West 
Poems," "Poetical Works," "Mrs. Skaggs' Husbands," "Echoes of the Foothills," 
"Tales of the Argonauts," "Gabriel Com-oy," "Two Men of Sandy Bar," "Thankful 
Blossom," "Story of a Mine," "Drift from Two Shores," "The Twins of Table 
Mountain and Other Stories," "In the Carquinez Woods," "On the Frontier," "By 
Shore and Ledge," "Snowbound at Eagles," "The Crusade of the Excelsior," "A 
Phyllis of the Sierras." One of Mr. Harte's most popular late novels, entitled 
"Three Partners; or, The Big Strike on Heavy Tree Hill," was published as a serial 
in 1897. Though written while the author was in Europe, the vividness of the 
description and the accurate delineations of the miner character are as strikingly 
real as if it had been produced by the author while residing in the mining country 
of his former Western home. . 



SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. 



RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name 
is Truthful .James ; 
j,^ I I am not up to small deceit or any sinful 
games ; 
And I'll tell in simple language what I 

know about the row 
That broke up our Society upon the Stan- 
islow. 

But first, I would remark, that it is not a proper plan 
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man, 
And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim, 
To lay for that same member for to " put a head " on 
him. 

Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see 
Than the first sis months' proceedings of that same i 

Society, 
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones 
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of 

Jones. 

Then Brown, he read a paper, and he reconstructed 

there. 
From those same bones, an animal that was extremely 

rare ; 
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of 

the rules. 
Till he could prove that those same bones was one of 

his lost mules. 

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, an' said he was 

at fault, 
It seems he had been trespassing on Jones's family 

vault ; 



He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown, 
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town. 



Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent 
To say another is an ass, — at least, to all intent ; 
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant 
Reply by heaving rocks at him, to any great extent. 

Then Abner Dean, of Angel's, raised a point of order 

when 
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the 

abdomen ; 
And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up 

on the floor. 
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no 

more ; 

For, in less time than I write it, every member did 

engage 
In a warfare with the remnants of the palaeozoic age ; 
And the way they heaved those fossils, in their anger, 

was a sin, 
'Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head 

of Thompson in. 

And this is all I have to say of these improper games. 

For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truth- 
ful James ; 

And I've told in simple language what I knew about 
the row 

That broke up our Society upon the Stanislow. 



376 



FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 



DICKENS IN CAMP. 




BOVE the pines the moon was slowly drifting, 
The river ^ang below ; 
The dim .^ierras, far beyond, upUfting 
Their minarets of snow. 



The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 

The ruddy tints of health 
On haggard face and form, that drooped and fainted 

In the fierce race for wealth 

'Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure 

A hoarded volume drew. 
And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure 

To hear the tale anew. 

And then, while shadows 'round them gathered faster, 

And as the firelight fell. 
He read aloud the book wherein the Master 

Had writ of " Little Nell." 

Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy, — for the reader 

Was the youngest of them all, — 
But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar 

A silence seemed to fall. 



The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, 

Listened in every spray. 
While (he whole camp with " Nell " on English 
meadows 

Wandered and lost their way. 

And so, in mountain solitudes, o'ertaken 

As by some spell divine, 
Their cares drop from them like the needles shak 

From out the gusty pine. 

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire. 

And he who wrought that s].e!l ; 
Ah ! towering pine and stately Kentish spire, 

Ye nave one tale to tell ! 

Lost is mat camp ! but let its fragrant story 

Blend with the breath that thrills 
Wiin nop-vines' incense, all the pensive glory 

That thrills the Kentish hills ; 

And on that grave, where English oak and holly, 

And laurel-wreaths entwine, 
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, 

This spray of Western pine 1 



■^1^ 




EUGENE FIELD. 



THE CHILBBEN S FRIEND AND POET. 




the fourth day of November, 1895, there was many a sad home in 
the city of Chicago and throughout America. It was on that day 
that Eugene Fiekl, the most congenial friend young children ever 
had among the literary men of America, died at the early age of 
forty-five. The expressions of regard and regret called out on all 
sides by this untimely death, made it clear that the character in 
which the public at large knew and loved Mr. Field best was that of the "Poet of 
Child Life." What gives his poems their unequaled hold on the popular heart is 
their simplicity, warmth and genuineness. This quality they owe to the fact tliat 
Mr. Field almost lived in the closest and fondest intimacy with children. He had 
troops of them for his friends and it is said he wrote his child-poems directly under 
their suggestions and inspiration. 

We might fill far more space than is at our command in this volume relating 
incidents which go to show his fondness for little ones. It is said that on the day 
of his marriage, he delayed the ceremony to settle a quarrel between some urchins 
who were playing marbles in the street. So long did he remain to argue the ques- 
tion with them that all might be satisfied, the time for the wedding actually passed 
and when sent for, he was found squatted down among them acting as peace-maker. 
It is also said that on one occasion he was invited by the noted divine, Dr. Gun- 
saulus, to visit his home. The children of the family had been reading Field's 
poems and looked forward with eagerness to his coming. When he arrived, the 
first question he asked the children, after being introduced to them, was, "Where is 
the kitchen?" and expressed his desire to see it. Child-like, and to the embarrass- 
ment of the mother, they led him straight to the cookery where he seized upon the 
remains of a turkey which had been left from the meal, carried it into the dining- 
room, seated himself and made a feast with his little friends, telling them quaint 
stories all the while. After this impromptu supper, he spent the remainder of the 
evening singing them lullabies and reciting his verses. Naturally before he went 
away, the children had given him their whole hearts and this was the way with all 
children with whom he came into contact. 

The devotion so unfailing in his relation to children would naturally show itself 
in other relations. His devotion to his wife was most pronounced. In all the world 
she was the only woman he loved and he never wished to be away from her. Often 

m 



378 EUGENE FIELD. 

she accompanied him on his reading tours, the last journey they made together 
being in tlie summer of '95 to tlie home of Mrs. Field's girlhood. While his wife 
was in the company of her old associates, instead of joining them as they expected, 
he took advantage of her temporary absence, hired a carriage and visited all of the 
old scenes of their early associations during the happy time of their love-making. 

His association with his fellow-workers was equally congenial. No man who had 
ever known him felt the slightest hesitancy in approaching him. He had the happy 
faculty of making them always feel welcome. It was a common happening in 
the Chicago newspaper office for some tramp of a fellow, who had known him in 
the days gone by, to walk boldly in and blurt out, as if confident in the power 
of the name he spoke — " Is 'Gene Field here ? I knew 'Gene Field in Denver, 
or I worked with 'Gene Field on the ' Kansas City Times.' " These were suffi- 
cient passwords and never failed to call forth the cheery voice from Field's room — 
" That's all right, show him in here, he's a friend of mine." 

One of Field's peculiarities with his own children was to nickname them. 
When his first daughter was born he called her " Trotty," and, although she is a 
grown-up woman now, her friends still call her " Trotty." The second daughter is 
called " Pinny " after the child opera " Pinafore," which was in vogue at the time 
she was born. Another, a son, came into the world when everybody was singing 
"Oh My! Ain't She a Daisy." Naturally this fellow still goes by the name of 
" Daisy." Two other of Mr. Field's children are known as " Googhy " and 
" Posy." 

Eugene Field was born in St. Louis, Missouri, September 2, 1850. Part of his 
early life was passed in Vermont and JNIassachusetts. He was educated in a univer- 
sity in Missouri. From 1873 to 1883 he was connected with various newspapers 
in Missouri and Colorado. He joined the staff of the Chicago " Daily News " in 
1883 and removed to Chicago, where he continued to reside until his death, twelve 
years later. Of Mr. Field's books, " The Denver Tribune Primer " was issued in 
1882 ; "Culture Garden" (1887); "Little Book of Western Friends" (1889); and 
" Little Book of Profitable Tales" (1889). 

Mr. Field was not only a writer of child verses, but wrote some first-class 
Western dialectic verse, did some translating, was an excellent newspaper correspon- 
dent, and a critic of no mean ability ; but he was too kind-hearted and liberal to 
chastise a brother severely who did not come up to the highest literary standard. 
He was a hard worker, contributing daily, during his later years, from one to three 
columns to the " Chicago News," besides writing more or less for the " Syndicate 
Press " and various periodicals. In addition to this, he was frequently traveling, 
and lectured or read from his own writings. Since his death, his oldest daughter, 
Miss Mary French Field ("Trotty"), has visited the leading cities throughout the 
country, delivering readings from her father's works. The announcement of her 
appearance to read selections from the writings of her genial father is always 
liberally responded to by an appreciative public. 



EUGENE FIELD. 



379 



OUR TWO OPINIONS* 




S two wuz bo\"S when we fell out — 

Nigh to the aae uv my youngest now ; 
Don't reelect what 'twuz about, 
Some small difF'rence, I'll allow, 
Lived next neighbors twenty years, 

A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim — 
He bavin' his opinyin uv me 

'Nd I bavin' my opinyin uv him ! 

Grew up together, 'nd wouldn't speak, 

Courted sisters, and marr'd 'em, too 
'Tended same meetin' house oncet a week, 

A-hatin' each other, through 'nd through. 
But when Abe Linkern asked the West 

F'r soldiers, we answered — me 'nd Jim — 
He bavin' bis opinyin uv me 

'Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him ! 

Down in Tennessee one night, 

Ther was sound uv firin' fur away, 
'Nd the sergeant allowed ther'd be a fight 

With the Johnnie Rebs some time next day; 



'Nd as I was thinkin' of Lizzie nd home. 

Jim stood afore me, long 'nd shm — 
He bavin' his opinyin uv me 

'Nd I bavin' my opinyin uv him ! 

Seemed like we knew there wuz goin' to be 

Serious trouble f r me 'nd him — 
Us two shuck bands, did Jim nd me. 

But never a word from me or Jim ! 
He went his way, and I went mine, 

'Nd into the battle's roar went we — 
I bavin' my opinyin uv Jim 

'Nd he havin' his opinyin uv me ! 

Jim never come back from the war again, 

But I haint forgot that last, last night 
When waitin' f'r orders, us two men 

Made up and shuck bands, afore the fight; 
'Nd, after it all, it's soothin' to know 

That here I be, 'nd yonder's Jim — 
He bavin' his opinyin uv me 

'Nd I bavin' my opinyin uv him ! 



LULLABY.* 




AIR is the castle up on the hill — 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
The night is fiiir and the waves are still. 
And the wind is singing to you and me 
In this lowly home beside the sea — 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 



On yonder hill is store of wealth — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
And revellers drink to a little one's health ; 
But you and I bide night and day 
For the other love that has sailed away — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep 

Ghostlike, my own ! 
Out of the mists of the murmuring deep ; 



Oh, see them not and make no cry, 
'Till the angels of death have passed us by— = 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

Ah, little they reck of you and me — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
In our lonely home beside the sea ; 
They seek the castle up on the hill. 
And there they will do their ghostly will — 

Hushaby, my own ! 

Here by the sea, a mother croons 
" Hushaby, sweet my own ; " 

In yonder castle a mother swoons 

While the angels go down to the misty deep, 

Bearing a little one fast asleep — - 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 



A DUTCH LULLABY.* 




™1YNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 
Sailed off in a wooden shoe — 
Sailed on a river of misty light 
Into a sea of dew. 



" Where are you going, and what do you wish?" 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have to come to fish for the herring-fish 

That live in this beautiful sea : 



♦From "A Little Book ofWestem Verse" (1389). Copyrighted by Eugene Field, and published by Charles Scribuer's Sons. 



38o 



EUGENE FIELD. 



Nets of silver and p;old have we, 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sung a song, 
And they rocked in the wooden shoe, 
And the wind that sped them all night long 

Kuffled the waves of dew; 
The little stars were the herring-fish 

That lived in the beautiful sea; 
" Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 
But never af eared are we " — 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 
For the fish in the twinkling foam. 

Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe. 
Bringing the fishermen home. 



'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed 

As if it could not be ; 
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea. 
But I shall name you the fishermen three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head. 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; 
So shut your eyes while mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 

And you shall see the beautiful things 

As you rock in the misty sea. 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three— • 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 



THE NORSE LULLABY.* 
From "A Little Book of Western Verse" 




HE sky is dark and the hills are white 
As the storm-king speeds from the north 

to-night. 
And this is the song the storm-king sings. 
As over the world his cloak he flings: 
" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ! " 
He rustles his wings and grufiiy sings : 
" Sleep, little one, sleep ! " 

On yonder mountain-side a vine 
Clings at the foot of a mother j)ine ; 
The tree bends over the trembling thing 



(1889). 

And only the vine can hear her sing : 
" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep — 

What shall you fear when I am here ? 
Sleep, little one, sleep." 

The king may sing in his bitter flight. 
The tree may croon to the vine to-night, 
But the little snowflake at my breast 
Liketh the song I sing the best : 

" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; 
Weary thou art, anext my heart, 

Sleep, little one, sleep." 



* Copyright, Charles Scribner's Soob. 



'^l|R'UW!»<W' '' '" '' '"' i '' '' '' ' '' ''' ' '' '' ' ' ' ''" ''' ' ' '''!»''''» ''''»'''^ 



♦ ♦ ♦ 



<»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦,^, 



^ntiiiiniini»iiimiiiniiiliiin(itiiiiiiiiinTiii»i iiiii l i i i| fii»ii << l inl illllli m i ll ll i l l llliril illtu i 



WILL CARLETON. 




AUTHOR OF "BETSY AND I ARE OUT." 

EW writers of homely verse have been more esteemed than Will 
Carleton. His poems are to be found in almost every book of selec- 
tions for popular reading. They are well adapted to recitation and 
are favorites with general audiences. With few exceptions they 
are portraitures of the humorous side of rural life and frontier 
scenes; but they are executed with a vividness and truth to nature 
that does credit to the author and insures their preservation as faithful portraits of 
social conditions and frontier scenes and provincialisms which the advance of educa- 
tion is fast relegating to the past. 

Will Carleton was born in Hudson, Michigan, October 21, 1845. His father 
was a pioneer settler who came from New Hampshire. Young Carleton remained 
at home on the farm until he was sixteen years of age, attending the district school 
in the winters and working on the farm during the summers. At the age of six- 
teen he became a teacher in a country school and for the next four years divided his 
time between teaching, attending school and working as a farm-hand, during which 
time he also contributed articles in -both prose and verse to local papers. In 1865 
he entered Hillsdale College, Michigan, from which he graduated in 1869. Since 
1870 he has been engaged in journalistic and literary work and has also lectured 
frequently in the West. It was during his early experiences as a teacher in " board- 
ing round" that he doubtless gathered the incidents which are so graphically 
detailed in his poems. 

There is a homely pathos seldom equalled in the two selections " Betsy and I Are 
Out" and "How Betsy and I Made Up" that have gained for them a permanent 
place in the affections of the reading public. In other of his poems, like " Makin' 
an Editor Outen Him," "A Lightning Rod Dispenser," "The Christmas Baby," 
etc., there is a rich vein of humor that has given them an enduring popularity. 
"The First Settler's Story " is a most graphic picture of pioneer life, portraying the 
hardships which early settlers frequently endured and in which the depressing 
homesickness often felt for the scenes of their childhood and the far-away East is 
pathetically told. 

Mr. Carleton's first volume of poems appeared in 1871, and was printed for 
private distribution. "Betsy and I Are Out" appeared in 1872 in the "Toledo 
Blade." It was copied in " Harper's Weekly," and illustrated. This was really the 
author's first recognition in literary circles. In 1873 appeared a collection of his 

381 



382 



WILL CARLETON. 



poems entitled "Farm Ballads," including the now famous selections, "Out of the 
Old House, Nancy," "Over the Hills to the Poorhouse," "Gone With a Handsomer 
Man," and "How Betsy and I Made Up." Other well-known volumes by the same 
author are entitled "Farm Legends," " Young Folk's Centennial Rhymes," "Farm 
Festivals," and "Citv Ballads." 

In his preface to the first volume of his poems Mr. Carleton modestly apologizes 
for whatever imj^erfections they may possess in a manner which gives us some 
insight into his literary methods. "These jjoems," he writes, "have been written 
under various, and in some cases difficult, conditions: in the open air, with team 
afield; in the student's den, with ghosts of unfinished lessons hovering gloomily 
about; amid the rush and roar of I'ailroad travel, which trains of thought are not 
prone to follow ; and in the editor's sanctum, where the dainty feet of the muses do 
not often deign to tread." 

But Mr. Carleton does not need to apologize. He has the true poetic instinct. 
His descriptions are vivid, and as a narrative versifier he has been excelled by few, 
if indeed any depicter of Western farm life. 

Will Carleton has also written considerable prose, which has been collected and 
published in book form, but it is his poetical works which have entitled him to 
public esteem, and it is for these "that he will be longest remembered in literature. 



BETSY AND I ARE OUT.* 




RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em 

good and stout. 
For things at home are cross-ways, and 

Betsy and I are out, — 
We who have worked together so long as 

man and wife 
Must pull in single harness the rest of our 

nat'ral life. 

" What is the matter," says you ? I swan it's hard to 

tell! 
Most of the years behind us we've passed by very 

well ; 
I have no other woman — she has no other man ; 
Only we've lived together as long as ever we can. 

So I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked 

with me ; 
And we've agreed together that we can never agree ; 
Not that we've catched each other in any terrible 

crime ; 
We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a 

time. 



There was a stock of temper w« hcvih had foi a stArl , 
Although we ne'er suspected 'twould take us two 
apart; 

•From " Farm Ballads." Copyright 1873, 1882, by Harper A BrolherB. 



I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone. 
And Bet.sy, like all good women, had a temper of 
her own. 

The first thing, I remember, whereon we disagreed. 
Was somethin' concerning heaven — a difference in our 

creed ; 
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast — we arg'ed the 

thing at tea — 
And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we 

couldn't agree. 

And the next that I remember was when we lost a 

cow ; 
She had kicked the bucket, for certain — the question 

was only — How ? 
I held my opinion, and Betsy another had; 
And when we were done a talkin', we both of uB 

was mad. 

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke; 
But for full a week it lasted and neither of us spoke. 
And the next was when I fretted because she broke 

a bowl ; 
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any 

soul. 



WILL CARLETON. 



383 



And so the thing kept workin", and all tlie self-same 

way; 
Always somethin' to ar'ge and something sharp to 

say,— 
And down on us came the neighbors, a couple 0' 

dozen strong. 
And lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along. 

And there have been days together — and many a 

weary week — 
When both of us were cross and spunky, and both 

too proud to speak ; 
And I have been thinkin' and thinkin', the whole of 

the summer and fall, 
If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't 

at all. 

And so I've talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked 

with me ; 
And we have agreed together that we can never agree ; 
And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall 

be mine ; 
And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her 

to sign. 

Write on the paper, lawyer — the very first para- 
graph— 

Of all the farm and live stock, she shall have her half ; 

For she has helped to earn it through many a weary 
day, 

And it's nothin' more than justice that Betsy has her 
pay. 

Give her the house and homestead ; a man can thrive 

and roam. 
But women are wretched critters, unless they have a 

home. 
And I have always determined, and never failed to 

say, 
That Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken 

away. 

There's a little hard money besides, that's drawin' 

tol'rable pay, 
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day, — 
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at ; 
Put in another clause there, and give her all of that. 



I see that you are smiling, sir, at my givin' her so 

much ; 
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such ; 
True and fair I married her, when she was blythe 

iind yjung. 
And Betsy was always good to me exceptin' with her 

tonguii. 

When I was young as you, sir, and not so smart, 

perhaps. 
For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps; 
And all of em was flustered, and fairly taken down, 
And for a time I was counted the luckiest man in town. 

Once when I had a fever — I won't forget it soon — 
I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon — 
Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight; 
She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day 
and night. 

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean. 
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen. 
And I don't complain of Betsy or any of her acts, 
Exceptin' when we've quarreled, and told each other 
facts. 

So draw up the paper, lawyer ; and I'll go home to- 
night. 

And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right; 

And then in the morning I'll sell to a tradin' man I 
know — 

And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the 
world I'll go. 

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me 

didn't occur ; 
That when I am dead at last she will bring me back 

to her, 
And lay me under the maple we planted years ago, 
When she and I was happy, before we quarreled so. 

And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me; 
And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we'll then agree; 
And if ever we meet in heaven, 1 wouldn't think it 

queer 
If we loved each other the bett«r because we'v* 

quarreled here. 




GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN.* 

(from "farm ballads.") 

John. IVe choked a dozen swears, (bo's not to tell Jane 

fibs,) 
When the plow-pint struck a stone, and the handles 
punched my ribs. 



VE worked in the field all day, a plowin 
the " stony streak ; " 
I've scolded my team till I'm hoarse ; 
I've tramped till my legs are weak ; 



•Copyright, 1873, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. 



384 



WILL CARLETON, 



I've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their 

sweaty coats ; 
I've fed em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats; 
And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' 

feel, 
And Jane won't say to-night that I don't make out a 

meal. 

Well said ! the door is locked ! out here she's left the 

key, 
Under the step, in a place known only to her and me ; 
I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hustled off 

pell-mell ; 
But here on the table's a note, and probably this will 

tell. 

Good God ! my wife is gone ! my wife is gone astray ! 
The letter it says, " Good-bye, for I'm a going away ; 
I've lived with you six months, John, and so far I've 

been true ; 
But I'm going away to-day with a handsomer man 

than you." 

A han'somer man than me ! Why, that ain't much 

to say ; 
There's han'somer men than me go past here every 

day. 
There's han'somer men than me — I ain't of the 

han'some kind ; 
But a lovelier man than I was, I guess she'll never 

find. 

Curse her! curse her! I say, and give my curses wings ! 
May the words of love I've spoken be changed to 

scorpion stings ! 
Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my 

heart of doubt, 
And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's 

blood out ! 

Curse her ! curse her ! say I, she'll some time rue 

this day ; 
She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two 

can play ; 
And long before she dies she'll grieve she ever was 

born. 
And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down 

to scorn. 

As sure as the world goes on, there'll come a time 

when she 
Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man 

than me ; 
And there'll be a time when he will find, as others do. 
That she who is false to one, can be the same with 

two. 
And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes 

grow dim, 



And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him, 
She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly 

count the cost ; 
And then she'll see things clear, and know what sh6 

has lost. 

And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in 

her mind, 
And she will mourn and cry for what she has left 

behind ; 
And maybe she II sometimes long for me — for me — 

but no ! 
I've blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have 

it so. 

And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' or 

other she had 
That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely bad ; 
And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn't 

last; 
But I mustn't think of these things — I've buried 'em 

in the past. 

I'll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter 

worse ; 
She'll have trouble enough ; she shall not have my 

curse ; 
But I'll live a life so square — and I well know that I 

can, — 
That she always will sorry be that she went with that 

han'somer man. 

Ah, here is her kitchen dress ! it makes my poor eyea 

blur; 
It seems when I look at that, as if 'twas holdin' her. 
And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her 

week-day hat. 
And yonder's her weddin' gown ; I wonder she didn't 

take that. 

'Twas only this mornin' she came and called me her 

'■ dearest dear," 
And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise 

here ; 
God ! if you want a man U\ sense the pains of hell, 
Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a 

spell ! 

Good-bye ! I wish that death had severed us two 

apart. 
You've lost a worshiper here, you've crushed a lovm 

heart. 
I'll worship no woman again ; but I guess I'll learn 

to pray. 
And kneel as you used to kneel, before you run away. 

And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven 
to bear, 



WILL CAELETON. 



385 



And if I thought I had some little influence there, 
I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so, 
As happy and gay as I was a half-hour ago. 

Jane (entering'). 

Why, John, what a litter here ! you've thrown things 

all around ! 
Come, what's the matter now ? and what have you 

lost or found ? 
And here's my father here, a waiting for supper, too ; 
I've been a riding with him — he's that " handsomer 

man than you." 

Ha ! ha ! Pa, take a seat, while I put the kettle on, 
And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old 

John. 
Whj, John, you look so strange 1 come, what has 
crossed your track ? 

25 



I was only a joking, you know ; I'm willing to tak€ 
it back. 

John (aside). 

Well, now, if this (tint a joke, with rather a bittei 

cream ! 
It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream; 
And I think she " smells a rat," fur she smiles at me 

so queer, 
I hope she don't ; good gracious ! I hope that they 

didn't hear! 

'Twas one of her practical drives — she thought I'd 

understand ! 
But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay of the 

land. 
But one thing's settled with me — to appreciate heaven 

well, 
'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of 

beU. 



A^* "S- A mtff'*tffrf'TrB3i' 



'rr~^^-^^ 



JOAQUIN MILLER. 




"THE POET OF THE SIERRAS. 

X the year 1851, a farmer moved from the Wabash district in Indiana 
to the wikler regions of Oregon. In his family was a rude, untaught 
boy of ten or twelve years, bearing the unusual name of Cincin- 
natus Heine Miller. This boy worked with his father on the farm 
until he was about fifteen years of age, wlien he abandoned the 
family log-cabin in the Willamette Valley of his Oregon home to 
try this tbrtune as a gokl miner. 

A more daring attempt was seklom if ever undertaken by a fifteen year old 
youth. It was during the most desperate period of Western history, just after the 
report of the discovery of gold had caused the greatest rush to tlie Pacific slope. 
A miscellaneous and turbulent population swarmed over the country; and, "armed 
to the teeth" prospected upon streams and mountains. The lawless, reckless life 
of these gold-hunters — millionaires to-day and beggars to-morrow — deeming it a 
virtue rather than a crime to have taken life in a brawl — was, at once, novel, 
picturesque and dramatic. — Such conditions furnished great possibilities for a poet 
or novelist. — It was an era as replete with a reality of thrilling excitement as 
that furnished by the history and mythology of ancient Greece to the earlier 
Greeks poets. 

It was into this whirlpool that the young, untaught — but observant and daring- 
farmer lad threw himself, and when its whirl was not giddy and fast enough for 
him, or palled upon his more exacting taste for excitement and daring adventure, 
he left it after a few months, and sought deeper and more desperate wilds. With 
Walker he became a filibuster and went into Nicaragua. — He became in turn an 
astrologer, a Spanish vaquero, and, joining the wild Indians, was made a Sachem. 

For five years he followed these adventurous wanderings; then as suddenly as 
he had entered the life he deserted it, and, in 186U the prodigal returned home to 
his father's cabin in Oregon. In his right aim he carried a bullet, in his right 
thigh another, and on many parts of his body were the scars left by Indian ar- 
rows. Shortly after returring home he begun the study of law and was admitted 
to practice within a few months in Lane County, Oregon; but the gold fever or 
spirit of adventure took possession of him again and in 1861 we find him in the 
gold mines of Idaho; but the yellow metal did not come into his "Pan" sufficieutljr 
fast and he gave it up to become an express messenger in the mining district. A 
few months later he was back in Oregon where he started a Democratic Newspaper 
386 



JOAQUIN MILLER. g 

at Eugene City which he ran long enough to get acquainted mih a poetical contri- 
butor, Miss Minnie Myrtle, whom he married in 1862 — in his usual sliort-di'der way 
of doing things — after an acquaintance of three days. Where "Joaquin" Miller — 
for he was now called "Joaquin" after a Spanish hrigand whom he had defended — 
got his education is a mystery; but through the years of wandering, even in boy- 
hood, he was a rhymester and his verses now began to come fast in the columns of 
his paper. 

In 1862, after his marriage he resumed the practice of law, and, in 1866, at the 
age of twenty-five, was elected Judge of Grant Countv. "^Phis position he held foi 




JOAQUIN MILLER S STUDY, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA. 

four years during which time he wrote much poetry. One day with his usual 
"suddenness" he abandoned his wife and his country and sailed for London to seek 
a publisher. At first he was unsuccessful, and had to print a small volume privately. 
This introduced him to the friendship of English writers and his " Songs of the 
Sierras" was issued in 1871. Naturally these poems were faulty in style and called 
forth strong adverse criticism; but the tales they told were glowing and passionate, 
and the wild and adventurous life they described was a new revelation in the world 
of song, and, verily, whatever the austere critic said, " The common people heard him 
gladly" and his success became certain. Thus encouraged Miller returned to Cali- 
fornia, visited the tropics and collected material for another work which he published 




388 



JOAQUIN MILLER. 



in London in 1873 entitled " Sunland Songs." Succeeding, the " Songs of the 
Desert" appeared in 1875; "Songs of Italy" 1878; Songs of the Mexican Seas 
1887. Later he has published " AVith Walker in Nicaragua " and he is also author 
of a play called "The Danites," and of several prose works relating to life in the 
West among which are "The Danites in the Sierras," "Shadows of Shasta" and 
' 49, or " The Gold-seekers of the Sierras." 

The chief excellencies of Miller's works are iiis gorgeous pictures of the gigantic 
Bcenerv of the Western mountains. In this sense he is a true poet. As compared 
with Bret Harte, while Miller has the finer poetic jjerception of the two, he does not 
possess the dramatic power nor the literary skill of Harte ; nor does he seem to 
recognize the native generosity and noble qualities which lie hidden beneath the 
vicious lives of outlaws, as the latter reveals it in his writings. After all the ques- 
tion arises which is the nearer the truth ? Harte is about the same age as jMiller, 
lived among the camps at about the same time, but he was not, to use a rough ex- 
pression, " one of the gang," was not so pronouncedly " on the inside " as was his 
brother poet. He never dug in the mines, he was not a filibuster, nor an Indian 
Sachem. All these and more Miller was, and perhaps he is nearer the plumb line 
of truth in his delineations after all. 

Mr. Miller's home is on the bluffs overlooking the San Francisco Bay in sight of 
the Golden Gate. He devotes himself to literature, his old mother and his friendi 



THOUGHTS OF MY WESTERN HOME. 



WRITTEN IN ATHENS. 




lERRAS, and eternal tents 

Of snow that flashed o'er battlements 
Of mountains ! My land of the sun, 
.\m I not true ? have I not done 
All things for thine, for thee alone, 
sun-land, sea-land, thou mine own? 
From other loves and other lands, 
As true, perhaps, as strong of hands. 
Have I not turned to thee and thine, 
O sun-land of the palm and pine, 
And sung thy scenes, svirpassing skies, 
Till Europe hfted up her face 
And marveled at thy matchless grace, 



With eager and inquiring eyes ? 
Be my reward some little place 
To pitch my tent, some tree and vine 
Where I may sit above the sea. 
And drink the sun as drinking wine, 
And dream, or sing some songs of thee ; 
Or days to climb to Shasta's dome 
Again, and be with giids at home, 
Salute my mountains — clouded Hood, 
Saint Helen's in its sea of wood — 
Where sweeps the Oregon, and where 
White storms are in the feathered fir. 



MOUNT SHASTA. 




11 lord all Godland I lift the brow 
Familiar to the noon, — to top 
The universal world, — to prop 
The hollow heavens up, — to vow 
Stem constancy with stars — to keep 
Eternal ward while cons sleep ; 

To tower calmly up and touch 
God's purple garment — hems that sweep 
The cold blue north ! Oh, this were much I 



Where storm-bom shadows hide and hunt 
I knew thee in my glorious youth, 
I loved thy vast face, white as truth, 
I stood where thunderbolts were wont 
To smite thy Titan-fashioned front, 
And heard rent mountains rock and roll. 

I saw thy lightning's gleaming rod 
Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll 
The awful autograph of God I 



JOAQUIN MILLEK. 



389 



KIT CARSON'S RIDE. 




UN ? NoN7 you bet you ; I rather guess so. 
But he's blind as a badger. Whoa, Fach6, 

boy, whoa. 
No, you wouldn't think so to look at his 
eyes. 
But he is badger blind, and it happened this wise ; — 

We lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels, 

Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown bride. 

" Forty full iniles if a foot to ride. 

Forty full miles if a foot and the devils 

Of red Camanehes are hot on the track 

"When once they strike it. Let the sun go down 

Soon, very soon,'' mattered bearded old Revels 

As he peered at the sun, lying low on his back. 

Holding fast to his lasso ; then he jerked at his steed. 

And sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftlyaround, 

And then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the 

ground. — 
Then again to his feet and to me, to my bride. 
While his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud, 
His form like a king, and bis beard like a cloud, 
And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a 

reed, — 
" Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed. 
And speed, if ever for life you would speed ; 
And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride, 
For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, 
And feet of wild horses, hard flving before 
I hear like a sea breaking hard on the shore ; 
While the bufl^alo come like the surge of the .sea. 
Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three 
As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire." 

We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, 
Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over 

again. 
And again drew the girth, cast aside the maeheer. 
Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, 
Cast aside the catenas red and spangled with gold, 
And gold-mtiunted Colts, true companions for years. 
Cast the red silk serapes to the wind in a breath 
And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the 

horse. 



Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, 

Not a kiss from my bride, not a look or low call 

Of love-note or courage, but on o'er the plain 

So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, 

With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein 

Hode we on, rode we three, rode we gray nose and ! With a look of delight, for this Pache, you see 

nose, I Was her father's and once at the South Santafee 

Reaching long, breathinsr loud, like a creviced wind Had won a whole herd, sweeping everythinc; down 

blows. 



There was work to be done, there was death in the air, 
And the chance was as one to a thousand for all. 

Gray nose to gray nose and each steady mustang 
Stretched neck and stretched nerve till the hollow 

earth rang 
And the foam from the flank and the croup and the 

neck 
Flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. 
Twenty miles ! thirty miles — a dim distant speck — 
Then a long reaching line and the Brazos in sight. 
And I rose in my seat with a shout of delight. 
I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right, 
But Revels was gone ; I glanced by my shoulder 
And saw his horse stagger; I .^^aw his head drooping 
Hard on his breast, and his naked breast stooping 
Low down to the mane as so swifter and bolder 
Ran reachins out for tis the red-footed fire. 
To right and to left the black bufi"alo came. 
In miles and in millions, rolling on in despair, 
W^ith their beards to the dust and black tails in the 

air. 

As a terrible surf on a red sea of flame 

Rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reaching 

higher, 
And he rode neck to neck to a buflTalo bull. 
The monarch of milliims, with .shaggy mane full 
Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire 
Of battle, with rage and with bellowings loud 
And unearthly atid up through its lowering cloud 
Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden tire. 
While his keen crooked horns through the storm of 

his mane 
Like black lances lifted and lifted again; 
And I looked but this once, for the fire licked 

through, 
And he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. 

I looked to my left then, and nose, neck, and shoulder 
Sank slowly, sank surely, till liack to my thighs ; 
And up through the black blowing veil of her hair 
Did beam full in mine her two marvelous eyes 
W'ith a lunging and love, yet look of despair, 
And a jiity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her, 
And flames reaching far for her glorious hair. 
Her sinking steed fttltered, his eager ears fell 
To and fro and unsteady, and all the neck's swell 
Did subside and recede, and the nerves fell as dead. 
Then she saw that my own steed still lorded Lis 
head 



Tet we spoke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, 



In a race where the world came to run for the crown 
And so when I won the true heart of my bride, — 



39° 



JOAQUIN MILLEE. 



My neighbor's and deadliest enemy's child, 

And child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe, — 

She brought me this steed to the border the night 

She met lievels and me in her perilous flight. 

From the lodge of the chief to the north Brazos 

side ; 
And said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, 
As if jesting, that 1, and I only, should ride 
The fleet-footed Paehe, so if kin should pursue 
I sliould surely escape without other ado 
Than to ride, without blood, to the north Brazos side, 
And await her. — and wait till the next hollow moon 
Hung her horn in the paims, when surely and soon 
And swift she would join me, and all would be well 
Without bloodshed or word. And now as she fell 
From the front, and went down in the ocean of fire, 
The last that I saw was a look of delight 
That I should escape, — a love, — a desire, — 
Yet never a word, not a look of appeal. — 
Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay 

heel 
One instant for her in my terrible flight. 

Then the rushing of fire rose around me and under. 
And the howling of beast like the sound of thunder, — 
Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over, 
As the passionate flame reached around them and 

wove her 
Hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died, — 



Till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, 

As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone, 

And into the Brazos I rode all alone — 

All alone, save only a horse long-limbed. 

And blind and bare and burnt to the skin. 

Then just as the terrible .sea came in 

And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide, 

Till the tide blocked up and the swift stream 

brimmed 
In eddies, we struck on the opposite side. 

" Sell Pache — blind Pache ? Now, mister ! look 

here ! 
You have slept in my tent and partook of my cheer 
Many daj's, many days, on this rugged frontier. " 
For the ways they were rough and t'omanches were 

near; 
" But you'd better pack up. sir ! That tent is too 

small 
For us two after this ! Has an old mountaineer, 
Do you book-men believe, get no tum-tum at all ? 
Sell Pache ! You buy him ! a bag full of gold ! 
You show him ! Tell of him the tale I have told ! 
Why he borfe me through fire, and is blind and is 

old ! 

Now pack up your papers, and get up 

and spin 
To them cities you tell of. . . . Blast you and 

your tin !" 




JOAQUIN MILLER'S 

As a specimen of this author's prose writing and sty 
letter clipped from t lie "Philadelphia Inquirer." 

Head of Luke Bennett, Alaska, August 2, 1897. 

AVRITE by the bank of what is already a 
big river, and at the fountain head of the 
=*^!1 mighty Yukon, the second if not the first 
of American rivers. \\'e have crossed the summit, 
passed the terrible Chilkoot Pass and Crater Lake 
and Long Lake and Lideman Lake, and now I sit 
down to tell the story of the past, while the man who 
is to take me up the river six hundred miles to the 
Klondike rows his big scow, full of cattle, brought 
from Seattle. 

***** 

THE BEAUTY AND GRANDEUR OF CHILKOOT PASS. 

All the pictures that had been painted by word, 
all on easel, or even in imagination of Napoleon and 
hi3 men climbing up the Alps, are but childish play- 
things in comparison with the grandeur of Chilkoot 
Pa.ss. Starting up the steep ascent, we raised a 
shout and it ran the long, steep and tortuous line that 
reached from a bluff above ns, and over and up till 
it lost itself in the clouds. And down to us from the , 



ALASKA LETTER. 
le, we present the following ext.-act from a syndicate 

clouds, the shout and cry of exultation of those brave 
conquerera came back, and only died away when the 
distance made it ppssible to be heard no longer. And 
now we began to ascend. 

It was not so hard as it seemed. The stupendous 
granite mountain, the home of the avalanche and the 
father of glaciers, melted away befire us as we 
ascended, and in a single hour of brisk climbing we 
stood against the summit or rather between the big 
granite blocks that marked the summit. As I said 
before, the path is not so formidable as it looked, and 
it is not half so formidable as represented, but mark j'ou, 
it is no boy's play, no man's play. It is a man's and 
a big strong man's honest work, and takes strength of 
body and nerve of soul. 

Right in the path and within ten feet of a snow 
bank that has not perished for a thousand years, I 
picked and ate a little strawberry, and as I rested and 
roamed about a bit, looking down into the brightly 
blue lake that made the head waters of the Yukon, 
I gathered a little sun flower, a wild hyacinth and a 
wild tea blossom for my buttonhole. 











JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 




THE WALTER SCOTT OF AMERICA. 

UR first American novelist, and to the present time perhaps the only 
American novelist whose fame is permanently established among 
foreigners, is James Fenimore Cooper. While Washington Irving, 
onr first writer of short stories, several years Cooper's senior, was so 
strikingly popular in England and America, Cooper's "Spy" and 
"Pilot" and the "Last of the Mohicans" went beyond the bounds 
of the English language, and the Spaniard, the Frenchman, the German, the Italian 
and others had placed him beside their own classics and were dividing honors be- 
tween him and Sir Walter Scott ; and it was they who first called him the Walter 
Scott of America. Nor was this judgment altogether wrong. For six or seven 
years Scott's Waverly Novels had been appearing, and his " Ivanhoe," which was 
first published in 1820 — the first historical novel of the world — had given the chip to 
Cooper for " The Spy," which appeared in 1821, the first historical novel of America. 
Both books were translated into foreign languages by the same translators, and made 
for their respective authors quick and lasting fame. 

James Fenimore Cooper was born in Burlington, New Jersey, September 15, 
1789 — the same year that George Washington was inaugurated President of the 
United States. His father owned many thousand acres of wild land on the head 
waters of the Susquehanna River in New York, and while James was an infant 
removed thither and built a stately mansion on Otsego Lake, near the point where 
the little river issues forth on its journey to the sea. Around Otsego Hall, as it was 
called, the village of Cooperstown grew up. In this wilderness young Cooper 
passed his childhood, a hundred miles beyond the advancing lines of civilization. 
Along the shores of the beautiful lake, shut in by untouched forests, or in the woods 
themselves, which rose and fell unbroken — except here and there by a pioneer's hut 
or a trapper's camp — he passed his boyhood days and slept at night among the 
solemn silence of nature's primeval grandeur. All the delicate arts of the forest, 
the craft of the woodsman, the trick of the trapper, the stratagem of the Indian 
fighter, the wiley shrewdness of the tawny savage, the hardships and dangers of 
pioneer life were as familiar to Cooper as were the legends of North Britain and the 
stirring ballads of the highlands and the lowlands to Walter Scott. But for this 
-experience we should never have had the famous Leather Stocking Tales. 

From this wilderness the boy was sent at the age of thirteen to Yale College, 
■where he remained three years, but was too restless and adventurous to devote himself 

391 



392 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 

diligently to study and was dismissed in disgrace at sixteen. For one year he 
shipped before the mast as a common sailor and for the next five years served as a 
midshipman in the United States Navy, making himself master of that kno\Yledge 
and detail of nautical life •which he afterwards employed to so much advantage in 
his romances of the sea. 

In 1811 Cooper resigned his post as midshipman, and married Miss Delancey, 
with whom he lived happily for forty years. The first few yeai-s of his married 
life were spent in quiet retirement. For some months he resided in AVestchester 
County, the scene of his book " The Spy." Then he removed to his old home at 
Cooperstown and took possession of the family mansion, to which he had fallen heir 
through the death of his father. Here he prepared to spend his life as a quiet 
country gentleman, and did so until a mei-e accident called him into authoiship. 
Up to that date he seems never to have touched a pen or even thought of one except 
to write an ordinary letter. He was, however, fond of reading, and often read aloud 
to his wife. One day while reading a British novel he looked up and playfully 
said : " I could write a better book than that myself" " Suppose you try," replied 
his wife, and retiring to his library he wrote a chapter which he read to Mrs. 
Cooper. She was pleased with it and suggested that he continue, which he did, and 
Dublished the book, under the title of " Precaution," in 1820. 

No one at that time had thought of writing a novel Avith the scene laid in 
America, and " Precaution," which had an English setting, was so thoroughly Eng- 
lish that it was reviewed in London with no suspicion of its American authorship. 
The success which it met, while not great, impressed Cooper that as he had not failed 
with a novel describing British life, of which he knew little, he might succeed with 
one on American life, of which he knew much. It was a happy thought. Scott's 
"Ivanhoe" had just been read by him and it suggested an American historical 
theme, and he wrote the story of " The Spy," which he published in 1821. It was 
a tale of the Revolution, in which the central figure, Harvey Birch, the spy, is one 
of the most interesting and effective characters in the realm of romantic literature. 
It quickly followed Scott's " Ivanhoe " into many languages. 

Encoui-aged by the plaudits from both sides of the Atlantic Cooper wrote another 
story, " The Pioneers" (1823), which was the first attempt to put into fiction the 
life of the frontier and the character of the backwoodsman. Here Cooper was ia 
his element, on firm ground, familiar to him from his infancy, but the book was a 
revelation to the outside world. It is in this work that one of the greatest charac- 
ters in fiction, the old backwoodsman Natty Bumpo — the famous Leather-Stock- 
ing — appeared and gave his name to a series of tales, comprised, in five volumes, 
which was not finally completed for twenty years. Strange to say, this famous 
series of books was not written in regular order. To follow the story logically the 
reader is recommended to read first the " Deerslayer," next the " Last of the Mohi- 
cans," followed by "The Pathfinder," then "The Pioneers," and last "The 
Prairie," which ends with the death of Leather-Stocking. 

The sea tales of Cooper were also suggested by Walter Scott, who published the 
" Pirate" in 1821. This book was being discussed by Cooper and some friends. 
The latter took the position that Scott could not have been its author since he was a 
lawyer and therefore could noi liave the knowledge of sea life which the book dis- 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 



393 



piayetl. Cooper, being himself a mariner, declared that it could not have been 
written by a man familiar with the sea. He argued that it lacked that detail of 
information which no mariner would have failed to exhibit. To prove this j)oint he 
determined to write a sea tale, and in 1823 his book " The Pilot" appeared, which 
was the first genuine salt-water novel ever written and to this day is one of the best. 
Tom Coffin, the hero of this novel, is the only one of all Cooper's characters worthy 
to take a place beside Leather-Stocking, and the two books were published within 
two years of each other. In 1829 appeared " The Red Rover," which is wholly a 
tale of the ocean, as " The Last of the Mohicans " is wholly a tale of the foi'cst. lu 
ail. Cooper wrote ten sea tales, which with his land stories established the fact that 
he was equally at home whether on the green billows or under the green trees. 

In 1839 Cooper published his " History of the United States Navy," which is to 
this day the only authority on the subject for the period of which it treats. He 
also wrote many other novels on American subjects and some eight or ten like 
"Bravo," "The Headsman " and others on European themes; but it is by " The 
Spy," the five Leather-Stocking tales, and four or five of his sea tales that his 
fame has been secured and will be maintained. 

In 1822, after "The Spy" had made Cooper famous, he removed to New York, 
where he lived for a period of four years, one of the most popular men in the 
metropolis. His force of character, big-hearted ness, and genial, companionable 
nature — notwithstanding the fact that he was contentious and frequently got into 
the most heated discussions — made him unusually popular with those who knew 
hira. He had many friends, and his friends were the best citizens of New Yoi'k. 
He founded the " Bread and Cheese Lunch," to which belonged Chancellor Kent^ 
the poets Fitzgreen Halleck and Wm. Cullen Bryant, Samuel Morse, the inventor 
of the telegraph, and many other representatives of science, literature, and the 
learned professions. In 182G he sailed for Europe, in various jnirts of which he 
resided for a period of six years. Before his departure he was tendered a dinner in 
New York, which was attended by many of the most prominent men of the nation. 
Washington Irving had gone to the Old World eleven years before and traveled 
throughout Great Britain and over the Continent, but Cooper's works, though it was 
but six years since his first volume was published, were at this time more widely 
known than those of Irving ; and with the author of the " Sketchbook " he divided 
the honors which the Old World so generously showered upon those two brilliant 
representatives of the New. 

Many jdeasant ]iages might be filled with the records of Cooper's six years in 
Europe, during which time he enjoyed the association and respect of the greatest 
literary personages of the Old World. It would be interesting to tell how Sir Walter 
Scott sought him out in Paris and renewed the acquaintance again in London ; how 
he lived in friendship and intimacy with General Lafayette at the French capital; 
to tell of his associations with Wordsworth and Rogers in London ; his intimate 
friendship with the great Italian Greenough, and his fondness for Italy, which 
country he preferred above all others outside of America ; of the delightful little 
villa where he lived in Floi-ence, where he said he could look out upon green leaves 
and write to the music of the birds; to picture him settled for a summer in Naples; 
living in Tasso's villa at Sarento, writing his stories in the same house in which the 



394 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 

great Latin author had lived, with the same glorious view of the sea and the bay, and 
the surf dashing almost against its walls. But space forbids that we should indulge 
in recounting tliese pleasant reminiscences. Let it be said that wherever he was 
he was thoroughly and pronouncedly an American. He was much annoyed bv the 
ignorance and prejudice of the English in all that related to his country. In 
France he vigorously defended the system of American government in a public 
pamphlet which he issued in favor of General Lafayette, upon whom the public 
press was making an attack. He was equally in earnest in bringing forward the 
claims of our jioets, and was accustomed at literary meetings and dinner parties to 
carry volumes of Bryant, Halleck, Drake and others, from which he read quotations 
to prove his assertions of their merits. Almost every prominent American who 
visited Europe during his seven years' sojourn abroad brought back pleasant recol- 
lections of his intercourse with the great and patriotic novelist. 

Cooper returned to America in 1833, the same year that Washington Irving came 
back to his native land. He retired to his home at Coojserstown, where he si)ent 
the remaining nineteen years of his life, dying on the 14th day of September, 1852, 
cue day before the sixty-second anniversary of his birth. His palatial home at 
Cooperstown, as were also his various places of residence in New York and foreign 
lands, were always open to his deserving countrymen, and many are the ambitious 
young aspirants in art, literature and jiolitics who have left his hospitable roof with 
higher ideals, loftier ambitions and also with a more exalted patriotism. 

A few days after his death a meeting of prominent men was held in Kew York 
in honor of their distinguished countryman. Washingion Irving presided and 
William Cullen Bryant delivered an oration paying fitting tribute to the genius of 
the first great American novelist, who was first to show how fit for fiction were the 
scenes, the characters, and the history of his native land. Nearly fifty years have 
passed since that day, but Cooper's men of the sea and his men of the forest and the 
plain still survive, because they deserve to live, because they were true when they 
were written, and remain to-day the best of their kind. Though other fashions in 
fiction have come and gone and other novelists have a more finished art nowadays, 
no one of them all has succeeded more completely in doing what he tried to do than 
did James Fenimore Cooper. 

If we should visit Cooperstown, New York, the most interesting spot we should 
see would be the grave of America's first great novelist; and the one striking feature 
about it would be the marble statue of Leather Stocking, with dog and gun, over- 
looking the last resting-place of his great creator. Then we should visit the house 
and go into the library and sit in the chair and lean over the table where he was 
created. Then down to the beautiful Otsego Lake, and as the little pleasure steamer 
comes into view we peer to catch the gilded name painted on its side. Nearer it 
comes, and we read with delight " Natty Bumpo," the real name of Leather 
Stocking. Otsego Hall, the cemetery and the lake alike, are a shrine to the memory 
of Cooper and this greatest hero of American fiction. And we turn away deter- 
mined to read again the whole of the Leather Stocking Tales. 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 



595 



ENCOUNTER WITH A PANTHER. 



(from " THE PIO.NEERS.") 




Y this time they had gained the summit of 
the mountain, where they left the highway, 
and pursued their course under the shade 
of the stately trees that crowned the eminence. 
The day was hecomitig warm, and the girls 
plunged more deeply into the forest, as they found 
its invigorating coolness agreeably contrasted to the 
excessive heat they had experienced in the ascent. 
The conversation, as if by mutual consent, was en- 
tirely changed to the little incidents and scenes of 
their walk, and every tall pine, and every shrub or 
flower called forth some simple expression of ad- 
miration. In this manner they proceeded along the 
margin of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses 
of the placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the 
rattling of wheels and the sounds of hammers that 
rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men with 
the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth suddenly 
started and exclaimed : 

" Listen ! There are the cries of a child on this 
mountain ! Is there a clearing near us, or can some 
little one have strayed from its parents ? " 

•' Such things freijuently happen," returned Louisa. 
" Let us follow the sounds ; it may be a wanderer 
starving on the hill." 

Urged by this consideration, the females pursued 
the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded from the 
forest, with quick impatient steps. More than once 
the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of announcing 
that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa caught her by 
the arm, and pointing behind them, cried, " Look at 
the dog ! ■' 

Brave had been their companion from the time the 
voice of his young mistress lured him from his kennel, 
to the present moment. His advanced age had long 
before deprived him of his activity ; and when his 
companions stopped to view the scenery, or to add to 
their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his huge frame 
on the ground and await their movements, with his 
«yes closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill ac- 
corded with the character of a protector. But when, 
aroused by this cry from Louisa. Miss Temple turned, 
she saw the dog with his eyes keenly set on some 
•distant object, his head bent near the ground, and his 



hair actually rising on his body, through frighc or 
anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was 
growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his 
teeth in a manner that would havi terrided his mis- 
tress, had she not so well known his good qualities. 

" Brave ! " she said, " be quiet, Brave ! what do 
you see, fellow ? " 

At the sound of her voice, the rage of the mastiff, 
instead of being at all diminished, was very sensibly 
increased. He stalked in front of the ladies, and 
seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling 
louder than before, and occasionally giving vent to his 
ire by a short, surly barking. 

" What does he see ? " said Elizabeth ; '• there 
must be some animal in sight." 

Hearing no answer from her companion. Miss 
Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa, stand- 
ing with her face whitened to the color of death, and 
her finger pointing upward, with a sort of flickering, 
convulsed motion. The quick eye of Elizal)eth 
glanced in the direction indicated by her friend, 
where she saw the fierce front and glaring eyes of a 
female panther, fixed on them in horrid malignity, 
and threatening to leap. 

" Let us fly," exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the 
arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow. 

There was not a single feeling in the temperament 
of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her to desert 
a companion in such an extremity. She fell on her 
knees, by the side of the inanimate Louisa, tearing 
from the person of her friend, with instinctive readi- 
ness, such parts of her dress as might obstruct her 
respiration, and encouraging their only safeguard, the 
dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her voice. 

" Courage. Brave ! " she cried, her own tones be- 
ginning to tremble, '' courage, courage, good Brave ! " 

A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been un- 
seen, now appeared, dropping from the branches of a 
sapling that grew under the shade of the beech which 
held its dam. This ignorant, but vicious creature, 
approached the dog, imitating the actions and sounds 
of its parent, but exhibiting a strange mixture of the 
playfulness of a kitten with the ferocity of its race. 
Standing on its hind-legs, it would rend the bark of a 



396 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 



tree with its forepaws, and play the antics of a cat ; 
and then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling and 
scratching the earth, it would attempt the manifesta- 
tions of anger that rendered its parent so terrific. 
All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, his 
ehort tail erect, his body drawn backward on its 
haunches, and his eyes following the movements of 
both dam and cub. At every gambol ]ilayed by the 
latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the growling 
of the three becoming more horrid at each moment, 
until the younger beast, overleaping its intended 
bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There was a 
moment of fearful cries and struggles, but they ended 
almost as soon as commenced, by the cub appearing 
in the air, hurled from the jaws of Brave, with a 
violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly as to 
render it compiletely senseless. 

Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her 
blood was warming with the triumjih of the dog 
when she saw the form of the old panther in the air, 
springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech 
to the back of the mastiflf. No words of ours can 
describe the fury of the conflict that followed. It 
was a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accom- 
panied by loud and terrific cries. Mi.ss Temple con- 
tinued on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, 
her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so 
horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her 
own stake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were 
the bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its 
active frame seemed constantly in the air, while the 
dog nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. 
When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the 
mastiff, which was its constant aim. old Brave, 
though torn with her talons, and stained with his 
own blood, that already flowed from a dozen wounds, 
would shake off his furious foe like a feather, and 
rearing on his hind-legs, rush to the fray again, with 
jaws distended and a dauntless eye. But age, and 
his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mas- 
tifi' for such a struggle. In everything but courage 
he was only the vestige of what he had once been. 
A higher bound than ever raised the wary and 
furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who 
was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, 
from which she alighted in a favorable position, on 
the back of her aged foe. For a single moment only 



could the panther remain there, the great strength of 
the dog returning with a convulsive efi'ort. But 
Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side 
of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his 
neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, 
was of the color of blood, and directly, that his frame 
was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate 
and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the wild-cat 
to extricate herself from the jaws of the dog fol- 
lowed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned 
on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened, 
when the short convulsions and stillness that suc- 
ceeded announced the death of poor Brave. 

Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the 
beast. There is said to be something in the front of 
the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of 
the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would seem 
that some such power in the present instance sus- 
pended the threatened blow. The eyes of the mon- 
ster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, 
when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe j 
next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter ex- 
amination it turned, however, with its eyes appar- 
ently emitting flashes of- fire, its tail lashing its sides 
furiously, and its claws projecting inches from her 
broad feet. 

Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her 
hands were clasped in the attitude of i)rayer, but her 
eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy — her 
cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, 
and her lips were slightly separated with horror. 
The moment seemed now to have arrived for the 
fatal termination, and the beautiful figure of Eliza- 
beth was bowing meekly to the stroke, when a rust- 
ling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the 
organs than to meet her ears. 

" Hist ! hi.st !" said a low voice, " stoop lower, gal! 
your bonnet hides the creature'.s head." 

It was rather the yielding of nature than a com- 
pliance with this unexpected order, that caused the 
head of our heroine to sink on her bosom ; when 
she heard the report of the rifle, the whiz of the 
bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who 
was rolling over on the earth, biting its own flesh, 
and tearing the twigs and branches within its reach. 
At the next instant the form of Leather-Stocking 
rushed by her, and he called aloud : 



JAMES FENIMOKE COOPER. 



397 



" Come in, Hector, come in old fool ; 'tis a hard- 
lived animal, and may jump agin." 

Natty fearlessly maintained his position in front of 
the females, notwithstanding the violent bounds and 
threatening aspect of the wounded panther, which 



gave several indications of returning strength and 
ferocity until his rifle was again loaded, when he 
stepped up to the enraged animal, and, placing the 
muzzle close to its head, every spark of Hf'e was ex- 
tinguished by the discharge. 



THE CAPTURE OF A WHALE. 




OM," cried Barnstable, starting, " there is 
the blow of a whale." 

" Ay, ay, sir, ' returned the cockswain, 
with undisturbed composure ; " here is his spout, not 
half a mile to seaward ; the easterly gale has diiven 
the creater to leeward, and he begins to tind himself 
in shoal water. He's been sleeping, while he should 
have been working to windward ! ' 

" The fellow takes it coolly, too ! he's in no hurry 
to get an offing." 

" I rather conclude, sir," said the cockswain, roll- 
ing over bis tobacco in his mouth very composedly, 
while his little sunken eyes began to twinkle with 
pleasure at the sight, " the gentleman has lost his 
reckoning, and don't know which way to head, to 
take himself back into blue water." 

" 'Tis a fin back !" exclaimed the lieutenant ; " he 
will soon make headway, and be off." 

" No, sir ; 'tis a right whale," answered Tom ; '• I 
saw his spout ; he threw up a pair of as pretty 
rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at. He's 
a raal oil-butt, that fellow !" 

Barnstable laughed, and exclaimed, in joyous 
tones — 

" Give strong way, my hearties ! There seems 
nothing better to be done ; let us have a stroke of a 
harpoon at that impudent rascal." 

The men shouted spontaneously, and the old cock- 
swain suffered his solemn visage to relax into a small 
laugh, while the whaleboat sprang forward like a 
courser for the goal. During the few minutes they 
were pulling towards their game, long Tom arose 
from his crouching attitude in the stern sheets, and 
transferred his huge frame to the bows of the boat, 
where he made such preparation to strike the whale 
as the occasion required. 

The tub, containing about half of a whale line, was 
placed at the feet of Barnstable, who had been pre- 



paring an oar to steer with, in place of the rudder, 
which was unshipped in order that, if necessary, the 
boat might be whirled around when not advancing. 

Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the 
monster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself 
with throwing the water in two circular spouts high 
into the air, occasionally flourishing the broad flukes of 
his tail with graceful but terrific force, until the 
hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of 
him, when he suddenly cast bis head downwards, 
and, without apparent effort, reared his immense body 
for many feet above the water, waving his tail violently, 
and producing a whizzing noise, that sounded like the 
rushing of winds. The cockswain stood erect, poising 
his harpoon, ready for the blow ; but, when be beheld 
the creature assuming his formidable attitude, he 
waved his hand to his commander, who instantly 
signed to his men to cease rowing. In this situation 
the sportsmen rested a few moments, while the whale 
struck several blows on the water in rapid succession, 
the noise of which re-echoed along the cliffs like the 
hollow reports of so many cannon. After the wanton 
exhibition of his terrible strength, the monster sunk 
again into his native element, and slowly disappeared 
from the eyes of his pursuers. 

" Which way did he head, Tom ? " cried Barn- 
stable, the moment the whale was out of sight. 

" Pretty much up and down, sir," returned the 
cockswain, whose eye was gradually brightening with 
the excitement of the sport ; " he'll soon run his nose 
against the bottom, if he stands long on that course, 
and will be glad enough to get another snuff of pure 
air ; send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and I 
promise we shall not be out of his track." 

The conjecture of the experienced old seaman 
proved true, for in a few minutes the water broke 
near them, and another spout was ca.st into the air, 
when the huge animal rushed for half his length in 



398 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 



the same direction, and fell on the sea with a turbu- 
lence and foam equal to that which is firoduced by 
the launching of a vessel, for the first time, into its 
proper element. After the evolution, the whale 
rolled heavily, and seemed to rest from further efforts. 

His slightest movements were closely watched by 
Barnstable and his cockswain, and, when he was in a 
state of comparative rest, the former gave a signal 
to his crew to ply their oars once more. A few long 
and vigorous strokes sent the boat directly up to the 
broadside of the whale, with its bows pointing toward one 
of the fins, which was, at times, as the animal yielded 
sluggishly to the action of the waves, exposed to view. 

The cockswain poised his harpoon with much pre- 
cision and then darted it from him with a violence 
that buried the iron in the body of their foe. The 
instant the blow was made, long Tom shoated, with 
singular earnestness, — 

" Starn all !" 

"Stern all!" echoed Barnstable; when the obe- 
dient seamen, by united efforts, forced the boat in a 
backward direction, beyond the reach of any blow 
from their formidable antagonist. The alarmed 
animal, however, meditated no such resistance ; ignor- 
ant of his own power, and of the insignificance of 
his enemies, he sought refuge in flight. One moment 
of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the 
iron, when he cast his huge tail into the air with a 
violence that threw the sea around him into in- 
creased commotion, and then disappeared, with the 
quickness of lightning, amid a cloud of foam. 

" Snub him !" shouted Barnstable ; " hold on, Tom ; 
he rises already." 

" Ay, ay, sir," replied the composed cockswain, 
seizing the line, which was running out of the boat 
with a velocity that rendered such a manoeuvre 
rather hazardous. 

The boat was dragged violently in his wake, and 
cut through the billows with a terrific rapidity, that 
at moments appeared to bury the slight fabric in the 
ocean. When long Tom beheld his victim throwing 
his spouts on high again, he pointed with exultation 
to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the 
deep red of blood, and cried, — 

" Ay, I've touched the fellow's life ! It must be 
more than two foot of blubber that stops my iron 
from reaching the life of any whale that ever sculled 
the ocean." 



■" I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of 
using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said 
his commander, who entered into the sport with all 
the ardor of one whose youth had been chiefly passed 
in such pursuits ; " feel your line, JIaster Coffin ; can 
we haul alongside of our enemy ? I like not the 
course he is steering, as he tows us from the 
schooner." 

" 'Tis the creater's way, sir," said the cockswain ; 
" you know they need the air in their nostrils when 
they run, the same as a man ; but lay hold, boys, and 
let us haul up to him." 

The seaman now seized their whale-line, and slowly 
drew their boat to within a few feet of the tail of 
the fish, whose progress became sensibly less rajiid as 
he grew weak with the loss of blood. In a few 
minutes he stopped running, and appeared to roll 
uneasily on the water, as if suffering the agony of 
death. 

" Shall we pull in and finish him, Tom ?" cried 
Barnstable ; " a few sets from your bayonet would 
do it." 

The cockswain stood examining his game with cool 
discretion, and replied to this interrogatory, — 

" No, sir, no ; he's going into his flurry ; there's 
no occasion for disgracing ourselves by using a .soldier's 
weapon in taking a whale. Starn off, sir, starn off! 
the creater's in his flurry." 

The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly 
obeyed, and the boat cautiously drew off to a dis- 
tance, leaving to the animal a clear space while under 
its dying agonies. From a state of perfect rest, the 
terrible monster threw its tail on high as when in 
sport, but its blows were trebled in rapidity and vio- 
lence, till all was hid from view by a pyramid of 
foam, that was deeply dyed with blood. The roar- 
ings of the fish were like the bellowings of a herd of 
bulls, and, to one who was ignorant of the fact, it 
would have appeared as if a thousand monsters were 
engaged in deadly combat behind the bloody niL«t 
that obstructed the view. Gradually these efforts 
subsided, and, when the discolored water again settled 
down to the long and regular swell of the ocean, the 
fish was seen exhausted, and yielding passively to its 
fate. As life departed, the enormous black mass 
rolled to one side ; and when the white and glisten- 
ing skin of the belly became apparent, the seamen 
well knew that their victory was achieved. 




NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 



"the greatest of AMERICAN ROMANCERS." 




O black knight in Sir Walter Scott's novels, nor the red Indians of 
Cooper, nor his famous pioneer, Leather Stocking of the forest, nor 
his long Tom of the ocean, ever seemed more truly romantic than 
do Hawthorne's stern and gloomy Calvinists of "The Scarlet Let- 
ter," and "The House of Seven Gables," or his Italian hero of "The 
^ Marble Faun." 

We have characterized Hawthorne as the greatest of American romancers. We 
might have omitted the word American, for he has no equal in romance perhaps in 
the world of letters. An eminent critic declares: "His genius was greater than 
that of the idealist, Emerson. In all his mysticism his style was always clear and 
exceedingly graceful, while in those delicate, varied and permanent effects which 
are gained by a happy arrangement of words in their sentences, together with that 
unerring directness and unswerving force which characterize his writings, no author 
in modern times has equalled him. To the rhetorician, his style is a study; to the 
lay reader, a delight that eludes analysis. He is the most eminent representative of 
the American spirit in literature." 

It was in the old town of Salem, Massachusetts — where his Puritan ancestors had 
lived for nearly two hundred years — with its haunted memories of witches and 
strange sea tales; its stories of Endicott and the Indians, and the sombre traditions 
of witchcraft and Puritan persecution that Nathaniel Hawthorne was born July 4, 
1804. And it was in this grim, ancient city by the sea that the life of the renoWned 
romancer was greatly bound up. In his childhood the town was already falling to 
decay, and his lonely surroundings filled his young imagination with a wierdness 
that found expression in the books of his later life, and impressed upon his character 
a seriousness that clung to him ever after. His father was a sea-captain, — but a 
most melancholy and silent man, — who died when Nathaniel was four years old. 
His mother lived a sad and secluded life, and the boy thus early learned to exist in 
a strange and imaginative world of his own creation. So fond of seclusion did he 
become that even after his graduation from college in 1825, he returned to his old 
haunt at Salem and resumed his solitary, dreamy existence. For twelve years, from 
1825 to 18.37, he went nowhere, he saw no one; he worked in his room by day, 
reading and writing; at twilight he wandered out along the shore, or through the 
darkened streets of the town. Certainly this was no attractive life to most young 
men; but for Hawthorne it had its fascination and during this time he was storing 

399 




400 



SATHANTEL HAWTHORNE. 



tis mind, forming his style, training his imagination and preparing for the splendid 
literary fame of his later years. 

Hawthorne received his early education in Salem, partly at the school of Joseph 
E. Worcester, the author of " Worcester's Dictionary." He entered Bowdoin Col- 
lege in 1821. The poet, Longfellow, and John S. C. Abbott were his classmates; 
and Franklin Pierce — one class in advance of him — was his close friend. He 
graduated in 1825 without any special distinction. His first book, "Fanshawe," 
a novel, was issued in 1826, but so poor was its success that he suppressed its iur- 



I 




"the old manse," concord, mass. 

Built for Emerson's grandfather. In this house Ralph Waldo Eniej-son dwelt for ten years, and, here, m 
the same room where Emerson wrote "Nature" and other philosophic essays, Hawthorne prepared bis 
"Twice Told Tales," and "Mosses from an Old Manse." He declares the four years (1842-1846) spent ia 
this house were the happiest of his life. 

ther publication. Subsequently he placed the manuscript of a collection of stories 
in the hands of his publisher, but timidly withdrew and destroyed them. His first 
practical encouragement was received from Samuel G. Goodrich, who published four 
stories in the "Token," one of the annuals of that time, in 1831. Mr. Goodrich 
also engaged Hawthorne as editor of the "American Magazine of Useful and Enter- 
taining Knowledge," which position he occupied from 1836 to 1838. About this 
time he also contributed some of his best stories to the "New England Magazine," 
"The Knickerbocker," and the "Democratic Review." It was a part of these maga- 
zine stories which he collected and published in 1837 in the volume entitled, "Twice 
"Told Tales," embodying the fruits of his twelve years' labor. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 401 

This book stamped the author as a mau of stronger imagiuation and deeper 
insight into human nature than Washington Irving evinced in liis famous sketches 
of the Hudson or Cooper in his frontier stories, for delightful as was Irving's writ- 
ings and vivid as were Cooper's j^ictures, it was plain to be seen that Hawthorne 
had a richer style and a firmer grasp of the art of fiction than either of them. 
Longfellow, the poet, reviewed the book with hearty commendation, and Poe pre- 
dicted a brilliant future for the writer if he would abandon allegory. Thus 
encouraged, Hawthorne came out from his seclusion into the world again, and mixed 
once more with his fellow-men. His friend, the historian, Bancroft, secured him a 
position in the Custom House at Salem, in 1839, which he held for two years. This 
position he lost through political jobbery on a trumped-up charge. For a few 
months he then joined in the Brook Farm settlement, though he was never in 
sympathy with the movement ; nor was he a believer in the transcendental notions 
of Emerson and his school. He remained a staunch Democrat in the midst of the 
Abolitionists. His note-books were full of his discontent with the life at the Brook 
Farm. His observations of this enterprise took shape in the"Blythedale Romance" 
which is the only literary memorial of the association. The heroine of this novel 
was Margaret Fuller, under the name of " Zenobia," and the description of the 
drowning of Zenobia — a fate which Margaret Fuller had met — is the most tragic 
passage in all the writings of the author. 

In 1842 Hawthorne married Miss Sophia Peabody — a most fortunate and happy 
marriage — and the young couple moved to Concord where they lived in the house 
knownas the " Old Manse," which had been built for Emerson's grandfather, and 
in which Emerson himself dwelt ten years. He chose for his study the same room 
in which the philosopher had written his famous book " Nature." Hawthorne 
declares that the happiest period of his life were the four years spent in the " Old 
Manse." While living there he collected another lot of miscellaneous stories and 
published them in 184o as a second volume of " Twice-Told Tales," and the next 
year came his " Mosses from an Old Manse," being also a collection from his pub- 
lished writings. In 1846 a depleted income and larger demands of a growing 
family made it necessary for him to seek a business engagement. Through a friend 
he received an appointment as Surveyor of Customs at Salem, and again removed 
to the old town where he was born forty-two years before. It was during his 
engagement here, from 1846 to 1849, that he planned and wrote his famous book 
"The Scarlet Letter," which was published in 1850. 

A broader experience is needed to compose a full-grown novel than to sketch a 
short tale. Scott wa.s more tlian fifty wlien he published " Waverly." Cooper 
wrote the " Spy " when thirty-three. Thackeray, the author of " Vanity Fair," 
was almost forty when he finished that work. " Adam Bede " appeared when 
George Elliot was in her fortieth year ; and the " Scarlet Letter," greater than them 
all, did not appear until 1850, when its author was in his forty-seventh year. All 
critics readily agree that this romance is the masterpiece in American fiction. 
The onlv novel in the United States that can be compared with it is Mrs. Stowe's 
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," and, as a study of a type of life — Puritan life in New Eng- 
land — " The Scarlet Letter " is superior to Mrs. Stowe's immortal work. One-half 
a century has passed since " The Scarlet Letter " was written ; but it stands to-day 
more popular than ever before. 
26 



402 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 

Enumerated briefly, the books written by Hawthorne in the order of their pub^ 
cation are as follows: " Fanshawe," a novel (1826), suppressed by the author" 
"Twice-Told Tales" (1837), a collection of magazine stories ; "Twice-Told Tales" 
(second volume, 1845) ; " Mosses from an Old Manse " (1846), written while he 
lived at the " Old Manse " ; " The Scarlet Letter " (1850), his greatest book ; " The 
House of Seven Gables" (1851), written while he lived at Lenox, Massachusetts; 
" The Wonder Book " (1851), a volume of classic stories for children ; " The Bly- 
thedale Romance " (1852); " Life of Franklin Pierce " (1852), which was written to 
assist his friend Pierce, who was running for President of the United States ; " Tangle- 
wood Tales " (1853), another work for children, continuing the classic legends of 
his " Wonder Book," reciting the adventures of those who went forth to seek the 
" Golden Fleece," to explore the labyrinth of the "Minotaur" and sow the "Dragon's 
Teeth." Pierce was elected President in 1853 and rewarded Hawthorne by 
appointing him Consul to Liverpool. This position he filled for four years and 
afterwards spent three years in traveling on the Continent, during which time he 
gathered material for the greatest of his books — next to " The Scarlet Letter " — 
entitled "The Marble Faun," which was brought out in England in 1860, and the 
same year Mr. Hawthorne returned to America and spent the remainder of his life 
at " The Wayside " in Concord. During his residence here he wrote for the 
" Atlantic Monthly " the papers which were collected and published in 1863 under 
the title of " Our Old Home." After Mr. Hawthorne's death, his unpublished 
manuscripts, " The Dolliver Romance," " Septimius Felton " and " Dr. Grimshawe's 
Secret," were published. Mrs. Hawthorne, also, edited and published her husband's 
" American and English Note-Books " and his " French and Italian Note-Books " 
in 1869. The best life of the author is perhaps that written by his son, Julian 
Hawthorne, which appeared in 1885, entitled " Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife; 
a Biography." 

A new and complete edition of Hawthorne's works has been lately issued in 
twenty volumes ; also a compact and illustrated library edition in seven volumes. 

Nathaniel Hawthorne died May 18, 1864, while traveling with his friend and 
college-mate, Ex-President Pierce, in the White Mountains, and was buried near 
where Emerson and Thoreau were later placed in Concord Cemetery. Emerson, 
Longfellow, Lowell and Whittier were at the funeral. His publisher, Mr. Field, 
was also there and wrote : " We carried him throu2;h the blossoming orchards of 
Concord and laid him down in a group of pines on the hillside, the unfinishea 
romance which had cost him such anxiety laid upon his coffin." Mr. Longfellow, 
in an exquisite poem describes the scene, and referring to the uncompleted romance 
in the closing lines says : 

" Ah, who shall lift that wand of magic power, 

And the lost clue regain ? 
The unfinished window in Alladin's tower 

Unfinished must remain." 

The noble wife, who had been the inspiration and practical stimulus of the great 
romancer, survived her distinguished husband nearly seven years. She died in 
London, aged sixty, February 26, 1871, and was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery, 
near the grave of Leigh Hunt. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 



403 



EMERSON AND THE EMERSONITES. 



MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE.") 



(from 

HERE were circumstances around me which 
made it difficult to view the world pre- 
cisely as it exists ; for severe and sober 



ways hover nigh whenever a beacon-fire of truth is 

kindled. 

For myself there had been epochs of my life when 
as was the Old Manse, it was necessary to go but a ; I too might have asked of this prophet the master- 
;little way beyond its threshold before meeting with j word that should solve me the riddle of the uni- 
stranger moral shapes of men than might ha\'e been : verse ; but now, being happy, I felt as if there were 
encountered elsewhere in a circuit of a thousand 1 no question to be put; and therefore admired Emer- 
miles. Those hobgoblins of flesh and blood were I son as a poet of deep beauty and austere tenderness, 
attracted thitlier liy the wide spreading influence of i but sought nothing from him as a philosopher. It 
a great original thinker who had his earthly abode at 1 was good, nevertheless, to meet him in the wood- 
!the opposite extremity of our village. His mind ; paths, or sometimes in our avenue, with that pure 



acted upon other minds of a certain constitution with 
wonderful magnetism, and drew many men upon long 
pilgrimages to speak with him face to face 

Young visionaries, to whom just so much of in- 
•sight had been imparted as to make life all a laby- 
rinth around them, came to seek the clew which 
fahould guide them out of their self-involved bewilder- 
|ment. Gray-headed theorists, whose systems — at first 
air — had finally imprisoned them in a fiery framework, 
Itraveled painfully to his door, not to ask deliverance, 
jbut to invite the free spirit into their own thralldom. 
;People that had liu'hted upon a new thought — or 
'thought they had fancied new — came to Emerson as 
a finder of a glittering gem hastens to a lapidary to 
ascertain its quality and value. Uncertain, troubled, 
earnest wanderers through the midnight of the moral 
world beheld his intellectual fire as a beacon burning 
upon a hill-top, and climbing the diflficult ascent, 
looked forth into the surrounding obscurity more 
|hopefully than hitherto. The light revealed objects 
unseen before : — mountains, gleaming lakes, glimpses 
of creation among the chaos : but also, as was un- 
,avoidable, it attracted bats and owls and the whole 
host of night-birds, which flapped their dusky wings 
against the gazer's eyes, and sometimes were mistaken 
for fowls of angelic feather. Such delusions al- 



intellectual gleam difi"used about his presence, like 
the garment of a shining one ; and he so ([uiet, so 
simple, so without pretension, encountering each man 
alive as if expecting to receive more than he could 
impart. And in truth, the heart of many a man 
had, perchance, inscriptions which he could not read. 
But it was impossible to dwell in his vicinity without 
inhaling more or less the mountain atmosphere of his 
lofty thought, which in the brains of some people 
wrought a singular giddiness — new truth being oa 
heady as new wine. 

Never was a poor country village infected with 
such a variety of queer, strangely-dressed, oddly- 
behaved mortals, most of whom took upon themselves 
to be important agents of this world's destiny, yet 
were simply bores of the first water. Such, I imagine, 
is the invariable character of persons who crowd so 
closely about an original thinker as to draw in his 
unuttered breath, and thus become imbued with a 
false originality. This triteness of novelty is enough 
to make any man of common sense blaspheme at all 
ideas of less than a century's standing, and pray that 
the world may be petrified and rendered immovable 
in precisely the worst moral and physical state that it 
ever yet arrived at, rather than be benefitted by such 
schemes d such philosophers. 




(the scarlet letter 

E have as yet hardly spoken of the infant ; 
that little creature, whose innocent life 
had sprung, by the inscrutable decree of 



PEARL. 

A ROMANCE. 1850.) 

rank luxuriance of a guilty passion. How strange it 
seemed to the sad woman, as she watched the growth, 
and the beauty that became every day more brilliant, 



Providence, a lovely and immortal flower, out of the i and the intelligence that threw its quivering sunshine 



404 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 



over the tiny features of this child ! Her Pearl ! — 
For so had Hester called her ; not as a name expfes- 
sive of her aspect, which had nothing of the calm, 
vhite, unimpassioned lustre that would be indicated 
by the comparison. But she named the infant 
" Pearl," as being of great price, — purchased with 
all she bad, — her mother's only treasure ! How 
strange, indeed ! Men bad marked this woman's 
sin by a scarlet letter, which had such potent and 
disastrous efficacy that no human sympathy could 
leach her, save it were sinful like herself. God, as 
a direct consequence of the sin which was thus 
punished, had given her a lovely child, whose place 
was on that same dishonored bosom, to connect her 
parent forever with the race and descent of mortals, 
and to be finally a blessed soul in heaven ! Yet 
these thoughts afi"ected Hester Prynne less with 
Lope than apprehension. She knew that her deed 
had been evil ; she could have no faith, therefore, 
that its result would be good. Day after day, she 
looked fearfully into the child's expanding: nature, 
ever dreading to detect some dark and wild pecu- 
liarity, that should correspond with the guiltiness to 
■which she owed her being. 

Certainly, there was no physical defect. By its 
perfect shape, its vigor, and its natural dexterity in 
the use of all its untried limbs, the infant was worthy 
to have been brought forth in Eden ; worthy to have 
been left there, to be the plaything of the angels, 
after the world's first parents were driven out. The 
child had a native grace which does not invariably 
coexist with faultless beauty ; its attire, however 
simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were 
the very garb that precisely became it best. But 
little Pearl was not clad in rustic weeds. Her mother, 
with a morbid purpose that may be better understood 
hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could 
be procured, and allowed her imaginative faculty its 
fiill play in the arrangement and decoration of the 
dresses which the child wore, before the public eye. 
So magnificent was the small figure, when thus 
arrayed, and such was the splendor of Pearl's own 
proper beauty, shining through the gorgeous robes 
which inlgnt have extinguished a paler loveliness, 



that there was an absolute circle of radiance around 
her, on the darksome cottage floor. And yet a rus- 
set sown, torn and soiled with the child's rude play, 
made a picture of her just as perfect. Pearl's as- 
pect was imbued with a spell of infinite variety ; in 
this one child there were many children, comprehend- 
ing the full scope between the wild-flower prettinesB il 
of a peasant-bab}', and the pomp, in little, of an in- 
fant princess. Throughout all, however, there was a 
trait of passion, a certain depth of hue, which she 
never lost ; and if, in any of her changes she had 
grown fainter or paler, she would have ceased to be 
herself, — it would have been no longer Pearl ! 

One peculiarity of the child's deportment remains 
yet to be told. The very first thing which she had 
noticed, in her life, was — what ? — not the mother's 
smile, responding to it, as other babies do, by that 
faint embryo smile of the little mouth, remembered 
so doubtfull}' afterwards, and with such fond discus- 
sion whether it were indeed a smile. By no means ! 
But that first object of which Pearl seemed to become 
aware was — shall we say it '? — the scarlet letter on 
Hester's bosom ! One day, as the mother stooped 
over the cradle, the infant's eyes had been caught by 
the glimmering of the gold embroidery about the ^ 
letter ; and, putting up her little hand, she grasped 
at it, smiling, not doubtfully, but with a decided 
gleam, that gave her face the look of a much older 
child. Then, gasping for breath, did Hester Prynne 
clutch the fatal token, instinctively endeavoring to 
tear it away ; so infinite was the torture inflicted by 
the intelligent touch of Pearl's baby-hand. Again, 
as if her mother's agonized gesture were meant only 
to make sport of her, did little Pearl look into her 
eyes, and smile ! From that epoch, except when the 
child was asleep, Hester had never felt a moment's 
safety ; not a moment's calm enjoyment of her. 
AVeeks, it is true, would sometimes elapse, during 
which Pearl's gaze might never once be fixed upon 
the scarlet letter ; but then, again, it would come at 
unawares, like the stroke of sudden death, and always 
with that peculiar smile and odd expression of the 
eyes. 



EDWAED EVERETT HALE. 




" THE ROBINSON CRUSOE OF AMERICA. 

DWAED EVEEETT HALE is to-day one of the best known and 
most beloved of American authors. He is also a lecturer of note. 
He has probably addressed as many audiences as any man in America. 
His work as a preacher, as a historian and as a story-teller, entitles 
him to fame; but his life has also been largely devoted to the forma- 
tion of organizations to better the moral, social and educational 
conditions of the young people of his own and other lands. Eecently he has been 
deeply interested in the great Chautauqua movement, which he has done much to 
develop. 

His name is a household word in American homes, and the keynote of his useful 
life may be expressed by the motto of one of his most popular books, "Ten Times 
One is Ten:" — "Look up and not down ! Look forward and not backward ! Look 
out and not in ! Lend a hand ! " 

Edward Everett Hale was born in Boston, Massachusetts, April 3, 1822. He 
graduated at Harvard University in 1839, at the age of seventeen years. He took 
a post graduate course for two years in a Latin school and read theology and church 
history. It was in 1842 that he was licensed to preach by the Boston Association 
of Congregational Ministers. During the winter of 1844-45 he served a church in 
Washington, but removed the next year to Worcester, INIassachusetts, where he 
' remained for ten years. In 1856 he was called to the South Congregational 
(Unitarian) Church in Boston, which he has served for more than three decades. 

When a boy young Hale learned to set type in his father's printing office, and 
afterwards served on the " Daily Advertiser," it is said, in every capacity from 
reporter up to editor-in-chief. Before he was twenty-one years old he wrote a large 
' part of the "Monthly Chronicle " and "Boston Miscellany," and from that time to 
the present has done an immense amount of newspaper and magazine work. He 
' atone time edited the "Christian Examiner" and also the "Sunday School Gazette." 
He founded a magazine entitled "The Old and the New" in 1869, which was after- 
wards merged into "Scribner's Monthly." In 1866 he began the publication of 
"Lend a Hand, a Eecord of Progress and Journal of Organized Charity." 

As a writer of short stories, no man of modern times, perhaps, is his superior, if 
indeed he has any equals. "My Double and How He Undid Me," published in 
1859, was the first of his works to strike strongly the popular fancy; but it was 
"The Man Without a Country," issued in 1863, which entitled its author to a prom- 

405 



4o6 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE. 



ineiit place among the classic short story-tellers of America, and produced a deep 
impression on the public mind. His "Skeleton in a Closet" followed in 1806; and, 
since that time his jjrolific pen has sent forth in the form of books and magazine 
articles, a continuous stream of the most entertaining literature in our language. 
He has the faculty of De Foe in giving to his stories the appearance of reality, and 
thus has gained for himself the title of "The Robinson Crusoe of America." 

Mr. Hale is also an historical writer and a student of great attainment, and has 
contributed many paj^ers of rare value to the historical and antiquarian societies of 
both Europe and America. He is, perhaps, the greatest of all living authorities 
on Spanish- American affairs. He is the editor of "Original Documents from the 
State Paper Office, London, and the British Museum; illustrating the History of 
Sir Walter Raleigh's First American Colony at Jamestown," and other historical 
works. 

Throughout his life, Mr. Hale has always taken a patriotic interest in public 
affairs for the general good of the nation. While he dearly loves his native New 
England hills, his patriotism is bounded by no narrow limits; it is as wide as his 
country. His voice is always the foremost among those raised in praise or in defence 
of our national institutions and our liberties. His influence has always been exerted 
to make men and women better citizens and better Americans. 



(from 



LOST* 
'PHILIP Nolan's friends.") 




||UT a.s she ran, the path confused her. 
Could she have pas.sed that flaming sassa- 
fras without so much as noticing it ? Any 
way she \should recognize the great mass of bays 
where she had last noticed the panther's tracks. She 
had seen them as she ran on, and as she came up. 
She hurried on ; but she certainly had returned 
much farther than she went, when she came out 
on a strange log flung up in some freshet, which 
she knew she had not seen before. And there was 
no clump of bays. Was this being lost ? Was she 
lost ? Why, Inez had to confess to herself that she 
was lost just a little bit, but nothing to be afraid of; 
but still lost enough to talk about afterwards she cer- 
tainly was. 

Yet, as she said to herself again and again, she 
could not be a quarter of a mile, nor half a quarter 
of a mile from camp. As soon as they missed 
her — and by this time they had missed her — 
they would be out to look for her. How provoking 
that she, of all the party, should make so much 
bother to the rest ! They woiJd watch her now 
like BO many cats sdl the rest of the way. What 



a fool she was ever to leave the knoll f So Inez 
stopped again, shouted again, and listened and 
listened, to hear nothing but a swamp-owl. 

If the sky had been clear, she would have had no 
cause for anxiety. In that case they would have 
light enough to find her in. She would have had the 
sunset glow to steer by ; and she would have had no 
difiiculty in finding them. But with this horrid gray 
over everything she dared not turn round, without 
fearing that she might lose the direction in which 
' the theory of the moment told her she ought to be 
faring. And these openings which she had called 
trails — which were probably broken by wild horses 
and wild oxen as they came down to the bayou to 
drink — would not go in one direction for ten paces. 
They bent right and left, this way and that ; so that 
without some sure token of sun or star, it was impos- 
sible, as Inez felt, to know which way she waa 
walking. 

And at last this perplexity increased. She was 
conscious that the sun must have set, and that the 
twilight, never long, was now fairly upon her. All 
the time there was this fearful silence, only broken 



» Copyright, Roberts Bros. 



EDWARD EVERETT HALE, 



407 



by her own voice and that hateful owl. Was she 
wise to keep on in her theories of this way or that 
way ? She had never yet come back, either upon 
the fallen cottonwood tree, or upon the bunch of bays 
which was her landmark ; and it was doubtless her 
wisest determination to stay where she was. The 
chances that the larger party would find her were 
much greater than that she alone would find them ; 
but by this time she was sure that, if she kept on in 
any direction, there was an even chance that she was 
going farther and farther wrong. 

But it was too cold for her to sit down, wrap her- 
self never so closely in her shawl. The poor girl 
tried this. She must keep in motion. Back and 
forth she walked, fixing her march by signs which 
she could not mistake even in the gathering darkness. 
How fast that darkness gathered ! The wind seemed 
to rise, too, as the night came on, and a fine rain, 
that seemed as cold as snow to her, came to give the 
last drop to her wretchedness. If she were tempted 
for a moment to abandon her sentry-beat, and try 
this wild experiment or that, to the right or left, 
«ome odious fallen trunk, wet with moss and decay, 
lay just where she pressed into the shrubbery, as if 
placed there to reveal to her her absolute powerless- 
ness. She was dead with cold, and even in all her 
■wretchedness knew that she was hungry. How 
«tupid to be hungry when she had so much else to 



trouble her I But at least she would make a system 
of her march. She would walk fifty times this way, 
to the stump, and fifty times th.it way ; then she 
would stop and cry out and sound her war-whoop ; 
then she would take up her sentry-march again. 
And so she did. This way, at least, time would not 
pass without her knowing whether it was midnight 
or no. 

" Hark ! God be praised, there is a gun ! and there 
is another I and there is another ! They have come 
on the right track, and I am safe !" So she shouted 
again, and sounded her war-whoop again, and list- 
ened, — and then again, and listened again. One 
more gun ! but then no more ! Poor Inez ! Cer- 
tainly they were all on one side of her. If only it 
was not so piteously dark ! If she could only walk 
half the distance in that direction which her fifty 
sentry-beats made put together ! But when she 
struggled that way through the tangle, and over one 
wet log and another, it was only to find her poor wet 
feet sinking down into mud and water ! She did not 
dare keep on. All that was left for her was to find 
her tramping-ground again, and this she did. 

" Good God, take care of me ! My poor dear 
father — what would he say if he knew his child was 
dying close to her friends ? Dear mamma, keep 
watch over your little girl !" — 







P^e3^5^^^SS^S2^S^S^S^525S25;^S%S%(FSA%(>SS^ 




WM. DEAN HOWELLS. 

(the KEALISTIC novelist of AMERICA.) 

HHE West has contributed many notable men to our nation within the 
last half of the jjresent century. There seems to be something in 
the spirit of that develoj^ing section to stimulate the aspirations and 
ambitions of those who grow up in its atmosphere. Progress, Enter- 
prise, "Excelsior" are the three words written upon its banner as the 
motto for the sons of the middle West. It is there we go for many 
of our leading statesmen. Thence we draw our presidents more largely than from 
any other section, and the world of modern literature is also seeking and finding 
its chiefest leaders among the sons and daughters of that region. True they aie 
generally transplanted to the Eastern centres of publication and commercial life, 
but they were born and grew up in the AVest. 

Notably among the examples which might be cited, we mention William Dean 
Howells, one of the greatest of modern American novelists, who was born at ]\Iartin's 
Ferry, Ohio, March 1st, 1837. Mr. Howells did not enjoy the advantage of a col- 
legiate education. At twelve years of age he began to set type in his father's j^rint- 
ing office, which he followed until he reached manhood, employing his odd time in 
writing articles and verses for the newspapers, and while quite young did editorial 
work lor a leading daily in Cincinnati. At the age of twenty-one, in 1858, he 
became the editor of the "Ohio State Journal" at Columbus. Two years later he 
published in connection with John James Piatt a small volume of verse entitled 
"Poems of two Friends." These youthful effusions were marked by that crystal 
like clearness of thought, grace and artistic elegance of expression which charac- 
terize his later writings. Mr. Howells came prominently before the public in 1860 
by publishing a carefully written and most excellent "Life of Abraham Lincoln" 
which was extensively sold and read during that most exciting presidential campaign, 
and no doubt contributed much to the success of the candidate. Mr. Lincoln, in 
furnishing data for this work, became well acquainted with the young author of 
twenty-three and was so impressed with his ability in grasping and discussing state 
affairs, and good sense generally, that he appointed him as consul to Venice. 

During four years' residence in that city Mr. Howells, in addition to his official 
duties, learned the Italian language and studied its literature. He also here gath- 
ered the material for two books, "Venitian Life" and "Italian Journeys." He 
arranged for the publication of the former in London as he passed through that city 
in 1865 on his way home. The latter was brought out in America on his return, 
408 



WM. DEAN HO WELLS. 



409 



appearing in 1867. Neither of these works are novels. "Venetian Life" is a 
delightful description of the manners and customs of real life iu Venice. "Italian 
Journeys" is a charming portrayal — almost a kinetoscopic view — of liis journey 
from Venice to Rome by the roundabout way of Genoa and Naples, with a visit to 
Pompeii and Herculaneum, including artistic etchings of notable scenes. 

The first attempt of Mr. Howells at story-telling, "Their Wedding Journey," ap- 
peared in 1871. This, while ranking as a novel, was really a description of an actual 
bridal tour across New York. "A Chance Acquaintance" (1873) was a more com- 
plete novel, but evidently it was a venture of the imagination upon ground that had 
proven fruitful in real life. It was nioiieled after "The Wedding Journey," but 
described a holiday season spent in journeying up the St. Lawrence Kiver, stopping 
at Quebec and Sagueiiay. 

Since 1874 Mr. Howells has published one or more novels annually, among which 
are the following: "A Foregone Conclusion" (1874), " A Counterfeit Presentment" 
(1877), ■■• The Lady of the Aroostook" (1878), "The Undiscovered Country" (1880), 
"A Fearful Responsibility" (1882), "A Modern Instance" and "Dr. Breen's Prac- 
tice" (1883), "A Woman's Reason" (1884), "Tuscan Cities" and "The Rise of 
Silas Lapham" (1885), "The Minister's Charge" and "Indian Summer" (1886), 
"April Hopes" (1887), "Annie Kilburn" (1888), "Hazard of New Fortune" (188'J). 
Since 1890 Mr. Howells has continued his literary activity with increased, rather 
than abating, energy. Among his noted later novels are "A Traveler from Altruria" 
and "The Landlord at Lion's Head" (the latter issued in 1897). Other notable 
books of his are "Stops at Various Quills," "My Literary Passion," "Library of 
Universal Adventure," "Modern Italian Poets," "Christmas Every Day" and "A 
Boy's Town," the two last mentioned being for juvenile readers, with illustrations. 

Mr. Howells' accurate attention to details gives to his stories a most realistic flavor, 
making his books seem rather photographic than artistic. He shuns imposing char- 
acters and thrilling incidents, and makes much of interesting people and ordinary 
events in our social life. A broad grasp of our national characteristics and an inti- 
mate acquaintance with our institutions gives him a facility in producing minute 
studies of certain aspects of society and types of character, which no other writer 
iu America has approached. For instance, his "Undiscovered Country" was an 
exhaustive study antl presentation of spiritualism, as it is witnessed and taught in 
New England. And those who admire Mr. Howells' writings will find in "The 
Landlord at Lion's Head" a clear-cut statement of the important sociological prob- 
lem yet to be solved, upon the other; which problem is also characteristic of other 
of his books. Thoughtful readers of Mr. Howells' novels gain much information on 
vital questions of society and government, which broaden the mind and cannot fail, 
to be of permanent benefit. 

From 1872 to 1881 Mr. Howells was editor of the "Atlantic Monthly," and since 
1886 he has conducted the department known as the "Editor's Study" in "Harper's 
Magazine," contributing much to other periodicals at the same time. He is also well 
known as a poet, but has so overshadowed this side of himself by his greater power 
as a novelist, that he is placed with that class of writers. In 1873 a collection of 
his poems was published. While in Venice he wrote "No Love Lost ; a Romance 
of Travel," which was published in 1869, and stamped him as a poet of ability. 



4IO 



WM. DEAN HOWELLS. 



IMPRESSIONS ON VISITING POMPEII* 



FROM " ITALIAN JOURNEYS." 



1867 




HE cotton whitens over two-thirds of Pom- 
peii yet interred ; happy the generation 
that lives to learn the wondrous secrets of 
that sepulchre ! For, when you have once been at 
Pompeii, this phantasm of the past takes deeper hold 
on your imagination than any living city, and becomes 
and is the metropolis of your dream-land forever. 
marvellous city! who shall reveal the cunning of 
your spell ? Something not death, something not 
life, — something that is the one when you turn to 
determine its essence as the other ! What is it comes 
to me at this distance of that which I saw in Pom- 
peii '! The narrow and curving, but not crooked 
streets, with the blazing sun of that Neapolitan 
November falling into them, or clouding their wheel- 
worn lava with the black, black shadows of the 
many-tinted walls ; the houses, and the gay columns 
of white, yellow, and red ; the delicate pavements of 
mosaic ; the skeletons of dusty cisterns and dead 
fountains ; inanimate garden-spaces with pygmy 
statues suited to their littleness ; suites of fairy bed- 
chambers, painted with exquisite frescos ; dining- 
halls with joyous scenes of hunt and banquet on 
their walls ; the ruinous sites of temples ; the melan- 
choly emptiness of booths and shops and jolly drink- 
ing-houses ; the lonesome tragic theatre, with a mod- 
■ern Pompeian drawing water from a well there ; the 
baths with their roofs perfect yet, and the stucco 
bass-reliefs all but unharmed ; around the whole, the 
city wall crowned with slender poplars ; outside the 
gates, the long avenue of tombs, and the Appian 
Way stretching on to Stabia ; and, in the distance, 
Vesuvius, brown and bare, with his fiery breath 
scarce visible against the cloudless heaven ; these are 
the things that float before my fancy as I turn back 
to look at myself walking those enchanted streets, 
and to wonder if I could ever have been so blest. 
For there is nothing on the earth, or under it, like 
Pompeii. . . . 

THE HOUSES OP POMPEII AND THEIR PAINTED 
WALLS. 
From " Italian Journeys." 
The plans of nearly all the houses in the city are 



alike ; the entrance-room next the door ; the parloi 
or drawing-room next that ; then the impluvium, or 
unroofed space in the middle of the house, where the 
rains were caught and drained into the cistern, and 
where the household used to come to wash itself, 
primitively, as at a pump ; the little garden, with its 
painted columns, behind the impluvium, and, at last, 
the dining-room. 

After referring to the frescos on the walls that 
have remained for nearly two thousand years and the 
wonder of the art by which they were produced, 
Mr. Howells thus continues : 

Of course the houses of the rich were adorned by 
men of talent ; but it is surprising to see the com- 
munity of thought and feeling in all this work, 
whether it be from cunninger or clumsier hands. The 
subjects are nearly always chosen from the fables of 
the gods, and they are in illustration of the poets. 
Homer and the rest. To suit that soft, luxurious 
life which people led in Pompeii, the themes are 
commonly amorous, and sometimes not too chaste: 
there is much of Bacchus and Ariadne, much of 
Venus and Adonis, and Diana bathes a good deal 
with her nymphs, — not to mention frequent represen- 
tations of the toilet of that beautiful monster which 
the lascivious art of the time loved to depict. One 
of the most pleasing of all the scenes is that in one 
of the houses, of the Judgment of Paris, in which 
the shepherd sits upon a bank in an attitude of 
ineffable and flattered importance, with one leg care- 
lessly crossing the other, and both hands resting 
lightly on his shepherd's crook, while the goddesses 
before him await his sentence. Naturally, the 
painter has done his best for the victress in this 
rivalry, and you see 

" Idalian AphroQite beautiful," 

as .she should be, but with a warm and piquant spice of 
girlish resentment in her attitude, that Paris should 
pause for an instant, which is altogether delicious. 

" And I beheld great Here's angry eyes." 



' Copyright, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



WM. DEAN HOWELLS. 



411 



Awful eyes ! How did the painter make them ? 
The wonder of all these pagan frescos is the mystery 
of the eyes, — still, beautifm, unhuman. You can- 
not believe that it is wrong for those tranquil-eyed 
men and women to do evil, they look so calm and so 
unconscious in it all ; and in the presence of the 
celestials, as they bend upon you those eternal orbs, 
ill whose regard you are but a part of space, you feel 
that here art has achieved the unearthly. I know of 



no words in literature which give a sense (nothing 
gives the idea) of the stare of these gods, except 
that magnificent line of Kingsley's, describing the 
advance over the sea toward Andromeda of the 
oblivious and unsympathizing Nereids. They floated 
slowly up and their eyes 



"Stared on her, silent and still, like the eyes m thei 
house of the idols." 



VENETIAN VAGABONDS.* 

(from "VENETIAN LIFE." 1867.) 




HE lasagnone is a loafer, as an Italian can 
be a loafer, without the admixture of 
ruffianism, which blemishes lost loafers of 
northern race. He may be quite worthless, and even 
impertinent, but he cannot be a rowdy — that pleasing 
blossom on the nose of our fast, high-fed, thick- 
blooded civilization. In Venice he must not be 
confounded with other loiterers at the cafe ; not 
with the natty people who talk pohtics interminably 
over little cups of black coffee ; not with those old 
habitues, who sit forever under the Procuratie, their 
hands folded upon the top of their sticks, and stare 
at the ladies who pass with a curious steadfastness 
and knowing skepticism of gaze, not pleasing in the 
dim eyes of age ; certainly, the last persons who bear 
any likeness to the lasagnone are the Germans, with 
their honest, heavy faces comically anglicized by leg- 
of-mutton whiskers. The truth is, the lasagnone 
does.not flourish in the best cafe; he comes to per- 
fection in cheaper resorts, for he is commonly not 
rich. 

It often happens that a glass of water, flavored with 
a little anisette, is the order over which he sits a 
whole evening. He knows the waiter intimately, and 
does not call him " Shop ! " (Bottega) as less familiar 
people do, but Gigi, or Beppi, as the waiter is pretty 
sure to be named. " Behold ! " he says, when the 
servant places his modest drink before him, "who is 
that loveliest blonde there ? " Or to his fellow-lasag- 
aone : " She regards me ! I have broken her heart ! " 
This is his sole business and mission, the cruel lasag- 



none— to break the ladies' hearts. He spares no 
condition — neither rank nor wealth is any defence 
against him. I often wonder what is in that note he 
continually shows to his friend. The confession of 
some broken heart, I think. When he has folded 
it and put it away, he chuckles, "Ah, cara ! " and 
sucks at his long, slender Virginia eigar. It is 
unlighted, for fire consumes cigars. I never see 
him read the papers — neither the ItaUan papers nor 
the Parisian journals, though if he can get " Galig- 
nani " he is glad, and he likes to pretend to a knowl- 
edge of English, uttering upon the occasion, with 
great relish, such distinctively English words aa 
" Yes " and " Not," and to the waiter, " A-little-fire- 
if-you-please." He sits very late in the cafe, he 
touches his hat — his curly French hat — to the com- 
pany as he goes out with a mild swagger, his cane 
held lightly in his left hand, his coat cut snugly to 
show his hips, and genteely swaying with the motion 
of bis body. He is a dandy, of course — all Italians 
are dandies — but his vanity is perfectly harmless, and 
his heart is not bad. He would go half an hour 
to put you in the direction of the Piazza. A little 
thing can make him happy — to stand in the pit at 
the opera, and gaze at the ladies in the lower boxes 
— to attend the Marionette or the Malibran Theatre, 
and imperil the peace of pretty seamstresses and con- 
tadinas — to stand at the church doors and ogle the 
fair saints as they pass out. Go, harmless lasagnone, 
to thy lodging in some mysterious height, and break 
hearts if thou wilt. They are quickly mended. 



• By special permission of the author and of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 








GENEEAL LEWIS WALLACE. 




AUTHOR OF " BEN HUR. 

HERE is an old adage whicli declares "without fame or fortune at 
forty, without fame or fortune always." This, however is not invar- 
iably true. Hawthorne became famous when he wrote "Scarlet 
Letter" at forty-six, Sir Walter Scott produced the first Waverly 
Novel after he was forty; and we find another exception in the ca.se 
of the soldier author who is made the subject of this sketch. Per- 
haps no writer of modern times has gained so wide a reputation on so few books 
or began his literary career so late in life as the author of "The Fair God;" "Ben 
Hur" and "The Prince of India." It was not until the year 1873 that General 
Lewis Wallace at the age of forty-six became known to literature. Prior to this he 
had filled the double position of lawyer and soldier, and it was his observations and 
experiences in the Mexican War, no doubt, which inspired him to write "The Fair 
God," his first book, which was a story of the conquest of that country. 

Lew. Wallace was born at Brookville, Indiana, in 1827. After receiving a com- 
mon school education, he began the study of law; but on the breaking out of the 
Mexican War, he volunteered in the army as a lieutenant in an Indiana company. 
On his return from the war, in 1848, he took up the practice of his profession in 
his native state and also served in the legislature. Near the beginning of the Civil 
War he became colonel of a volunteer regiment. His military service was of such 
a character that he received special mention from General Grant for meritorious 
conduct and was made major-general in March, 1862. He was mustered out of 
service when the war closed in 1865 and resumed his practice of law at his old 
home in Crawfordsville. In 1873, as stated above, his first book, "The Fair God," 
was published; but it met with only moderate success. In 1878, General Wallace 
was made Territorial Governor of Utah and in 1880, "Ben Hur; a Tale of The 
Christ" appeared. The scene was laid in the East and displayed such a knowledge 
of the manners and customs of that country and people that General Garfield — that 
year elected President — considered its author a fitting person for the Turkish 
Ministry, and accordingly, in 1881, he was appointed to that position. It is said 
that when President Garfield gave General Wallace his appointment, he wrote the 
words "Ben Hur" across the corner of the document, and, as Wallace was coming 
away from his visit of acknowledgement at the White House, the President put his 
arm over his friend's shoulder and said, "I expect another book out of you. Your 
duties will not be too onerous to allow you to write it. Locate the scene in 
412 



GENERAL LEWIS WALLACE. .j.- 

Constantinople." This suggestion was, no doubt, General Wallace's reason for 
writing " The Prince of India," which was published in 1890 and is the last 
book issued by its author. He had in the mean time, however, published " The 
Boyhood of Christ " (1888). 

None of the other books of the author have been so popular or reached the great 
success attained by " Ben Hur," which has had the enormous sale of nearly one-half 
million copies without at any time being forced upon the market in the form of a 
cheap edition. It is remarkable also to state that the early circulation of " Ben 
Hur," while it was appreciated by a certain class, was too small to warrant the 
autlior in anticipating the fortune which he afterwards harvested from this book. 
Before General Wallace was made Minister to Turkey, the book-sellers bought it in 
quantities of two, three or a dozen at a time, and it was not until President Garfield 
had honored the author with this significant portfolio that the trade commenced to 
call for it in thousand lots. 



DESCRIPTION OF CHRIST* 

(from " BEN HUR." ISSO.) 




HE head was open to the cloudless light, ex- 
cept as it was draped with long hair and 
slightly waved, and parted in the middle, 
and auburn in tint, with a tendency to reddish golden 
where most strongly touched by the sun. Under a 
broad, low forehead, under black well-arched brows, 
beamed eyes dark blue and large, and softened to ex- 
ceeding tenderness by lashes of great length some- 
times seen on children, but seldom, if ever, on men. 
As to the other features, it would have been difficult 
to decide whether they were Greek or Jewish. The 
deUcacy of the nostrils and mouth was unusually to 
the latter type, and when it was taken into account 
with the gentleness of the eyes, the pallor of the 
complexion, the fine texture of the hair and the soft- 
ness of the beard, which fell in waves over His throat 
to His breast, never a soldier but would have laughed 
at Him in encounter, never a woman who would not 
have confided in Him at sight, never a child that 



would not, with quick instinct, have given Him its 
hand and whole artless trust, nor might any one have 
said He was not beautiful. 

The features, it should be further said, were ruled 
by a certain expression which, as the viewer chose, 
might with equal correctness have been called the 
eflfect of intelligence, love, pity or sorrow, though, in 
better speech, it was a blending of them all — a look 
easy to fancy as a mark of a sinless soul doomed to 
the sight and understanding of the utter sinfulness 
of those among whom it was passing ; yet withal no 
one could have observed the face with a thought 
of weakness in the man ; so, at least, would not 
they who know that the qualities mentioned — love, 
sorrow, pity — are the results of a consciousness of 
strength to bear sufiering oftener than strength to do ; 
such has been the might of martyrs and devotees 
and the myriads written down in saintly calendars ; 
and such, indeed, was the air of this one. 




THE PRINCE OF INDIA TEACHES REINCARNATION.* 

(from the " PRINCE OF INDIA." 1890.) 

HE Holy Father of Light and Life," the | sometimes near together, sometimes wide apart, and 
speaker went on, after a pause referable to races diverse, yet in every instance remarkable fol 



to his consummate knowledge of men, 
" has sent His Spirit d(jwn to the world, not once, 
merely, or unto one people, but repeatedly, in ages 

♦Selections printed here are by soecial permiasion of the author. Harper Brothers, Publishers, 



There was a murmur at this, but he gave it no 
time. 



414 



GENERAL LEWIS WALLACE. 



" Ask you now how I could identify the Spirit 
so as to be able to declare to you solemnly, as I 
do in fear of God, that in several repeated appear- 
ances of which I speak it was the very same 
Spirit ? How do you know the man you met at set 
of sun yesterday was the man you saluted and had 
salute from this morning ? Well, I tell you the 
Father has given the Spirit features by which it 
may be known — features distinct as those of the 
neighbors nearest you there at your right and left 
hands. Wherever in my reading Holy Books, like 
these, I hear of a man, himself a shining example 
of righteousness, teaching God and the way to 
God ; by those signs I say to my soul : ' Oh, the 
Spirit, the Spirit ! Blessed in the man appointed to 
carry it about !' " 

Again the murmur, but again he passed on. 

"The Spirit dwelt in the Holy of Holies set apart 
for it in the Tabernacle ; yet no man ever saw it 



here, a thing of sight. The soul is not to be seen ; 
still less is the Spirit of the Most High ; or if one 
did see it, its brightness would kill him. In great 
mercy, therefore, it has come and done its good 
works in the world veiled ; now in one form, now in 
another ; at one time, a voice in the air ; at another, 
a vision in sleep ; at another, a burning bush ; at 
another, an angel ; at another, a descending dove "— 

"Bethabara!" shouted a cowled brother, tossing 
both hands up. 

" Be quiet ! " the Patriarch ordered. 

" Thus always when its errand was of quick de- 
spatch," the Prince continued. " But if its coming 
were for residence on earth, then its habit has been 
to adopt a man for its outward form, and enter into 
him, and speak by him ; such was jMoses, such 
Elijah, such were all the Prophets, and such " — he 
paused, then exclaimed shrilly — " such was Jesus 
Christ!" 



DEATH OF MONTEZUMA.* 

(FKO.M " THE FAIR GOD.") 




I HE king turned his pale face and fixed his 
gazing eyes upon the conqueror; and such 
power was there in the look that the latter 
added, with softening manner, " What I can do for 
thee I will do. I have always been thy true friend." 

" O Malinche, I hear you, and your words make 
dying easy," answered Montezuma, smiling faintly. 

With an effort he sought Cortes' hand, and looking 
at Acatlan and Tecalco, continued : 

" Let me intrust these women and their children 
to you and your lord. Of all that which was mine 
but now is yours — lands, people, empire — enough 
CO save them from want and shame, were small in- 
deed. Promise me ; in the hearing of all the.se, 
promise, Malinche." 

Taint of anger was there no longer on the soul of 
the great Spaniard. 

" Rest thee, good king ! " he said, with feeling, 
'' Thy queens and their children shall be my wards. 
In the hearing of all these, I so swear." 

* Copyright, Harper & Bros, 



The listener smiled again ; his eyes closed, his 
hand fell down ; and so still was he that they betcan 
to think him dead. Suddenly he stirred, and said 
faintly, but distinctly, — 

" Nearer, uncles, nearer." The old men bent over 
him, listening. 

" A message to Guatamozin, — to whom I give my 
last thought, as king. Say to him, that this linger- 
ing in death is no fault of his ; the aim was true, but 
the arrow spUntered upon leaving the bow. And 
lest the world hold him to account for my blood, hear 
me say, all of you, that I bade him do what 
he did. And in sign that I love him, take my 
sceptre, and give it to him — " 

His voice fell away, yet the lips moved ; lower the- 
accents stooped, — 

" Tula and the empire go with the sceptre." he 
murmured, and they were hb last words, — his will 
A wail from the women pronounced him dead. 



'^ wwjJH i Huiiiumi ii ii i ii i iiiiiiii iii iiiii i i i ii ii iii i iii iii i i i i ii i iiiiiiiiiiiiiinniiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiu|iix>' 

""^ ♦' ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦,/ 

^♦♦^♦♦«> ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦ 
^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦v 

^iiitililiTiiniiTniliiiiiliiMiiiiiliniinliiiriliiriiiiiiiiliiiliiiiiiiiiiiiiliii(iniili»iiili»iirtiiitnlli'tiilnir(lii>»._ 



EDWARD EGGLESTON. 



THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY. 




ERDER says with truth that " one's whole life is but the interpreta- 
tion of the oracles of his childhood," and those who are familiar with 
the writings of Edward Eggleston see in his pictures of country life 
in the Hoosier State the interpretation and illustration of his own 
life with its j^^culiar environment in " the great interior valley " 
nearly a half-century ago. The writers who have interpreted for us 
and for future generations the life and the characteristic manners which prevailed in 
the days when our country was new and the forests were yielding to give place to 
growing cities and expanding farms have done a rare and peculiar service, and those 
sections which have found expression through the genius and gifts of novelist or 
poet are highly favored above all others. 

Edward Eggleston has always counted it a piece of good-fortune to have been 
born in a small village of Southern Indiana, for he believes that the formative influ- 
ences of such an environment, the intimate knowledge of simple human nature, the 
close acquaintance with nature in woods and field and stream, and the sincere and 
earnest tone of the religious atmosphere which he breathed all through his youth, are 
better elements of culture than a city life could have furnished. 

He was born in 1837 in Vevay , Indiana, and his early life was spent amid the 
"noble scenery " on the banks of the Ohio River. His father died while he was a 
young boy, and he himself was too delicate to spend much time at school, so that he 
is a shining example of those who move up the inclined plane of self-culture and 
self-improvement. 

As he himself has forcefully said, through his whole life two men have 
struggled within him for the ascendency, the religious devotee and the literary man. 
His early training was " after the straitest sect of his religion " — the fervid Metho- 
dism of fifty years ago, and he was almost morbidly scrupulous as a boy. not even 
allowing himself to read a novel, though from this early period he always felt in 
himself a future literai-y career, and the teacher who corrected his compositions 
naively said to him : " I have marked your composition very severely because you 
are destined to become an author." 

At first the religious element in his nature decidedly held .sway and he devoted 
himself to the ministry, mounting a horse and going forth with his saddle-bags as a 
circuit preacher in a circuit of ten preaching places. This was followed by a still 
harder experience in the border country of Minnesota, where in moccasins he 

415 



.^r EDWARD EGGLESTON. 

410 

tramped from town to town preaching to lumbermen and living on a meagre pit- 
tance, eating crackers and cheese, often in broken health and expecting an early 
denth. 

But even this earnest life of religious devotion and sacrifice was interspersed with 
attempts at literary work and he wrote a critical essay on " Beiauger and his Songs " 
while he was trying to evangelize the red-shirted lumbermen of St. Croix. It was 
in such life and amid such experiences that Eggleston gained his keen knowledge 
of liuman nature which has been the delight and charm of his books. 

He began his literary career as associate editor of the "Little Corporal" at 
Evanston, Illinois, in 1866, and in 1870 he rose to the position of literary editor of 
the New York "Independent," of which he was for a time superintending editor. 
For five years, from 1874 to 1879, he was pastor of the Church of Christian En- 
deavor in Brooklyn, but failing health compelled him to retire, and he made his 
home at "Owl's Nest," on Lake George, where he has since devoted himself to 
literary work. 

His novels depict the rural life of Southern Indiana, and his own judgment upon 
them is as follows: "I should say that what distinguishes my novels from other 
works of fiction is the prominence which they give to social conditions; that the 
individual characters are here treated to a greater degree than elsewhere as parts of 
a study of a society, as in some sense the logical result of the environment. What- 
ever may be the rank assigned to these stories as works of literary art, they will 
always have a certain value as materials for the student of social history." 

His chief novels and stories are the following: "Mr. Blake's Walking Stick" 
(Chicago, 1869); "The Hoosier School-master" 1 New York, 1871);" "End of the 
World" (1872); "The Mystery of Metropolisville" (1873); "The Circuit Eider" 
(1874); "School-master's Stories for Boys and Girls" (1874); and "The Hoosier 
School-boy" (1883). He has written in' connection with his daughter an interest- 
ing series of biographical tales of famous American Indians, and during these later 
years of his life he has largely devoted himself to historical work which has had an 
attraction for him all his life. 

In his historical work as in his novels he is especially occupied with the evolu- 
tion of society. His interest runs in the line of unfolding the history of life and 
development rather than in giving mere facts of political history. 

His chief woi-ks in this department are,: "Household History of the United 
States and its People" (New York, 1893) ; and "llie Betjinners of a Nation" (New 
York, 1897). 

Tliough possessed of a weak and ailing body and always on the verge of invalid- 
ism, he has done the work of a strong man. He lias always preserved his deep and 
earnest religious and moral tone, but he has woven with it a joyous and genuine 
humor which has warmed the hearts of his many readers. 



EDWARD EGGLESTON. 



417 




SPELLING DOWN 

(from "the hoosier schoolmaster.' 
i VERY family furnished a candle. There 
were j-ellow dips and white dips, burning, 
smoking, and flaring. There was laugh- 
ing, and talking, and giggling, and simpering, and 
ogling, and flirting, and courting. What a dress 
party is to Fifth Avenue, a spelling-school is to 
Hoophule County. It is an occasion which is meta- 
phorically inscribed with this legend, " Choose your 
partners." Spelling is only a blind in Hoophole 
County, as is dancing on Fifth Avenue. But as 
there are some in society who love dancing for its 
own sake, so in Flat Creek district there were those 
who loved spelling for its own sake, and who, smell- 
ing the battle from afar, had come to try their skill 
in this tournament, hoping to freshen the laurels they 
had won in their school-days. 

" I 'low," said Mr. Means, speaking as the prin- 
cipal school trustee, " I 'low our friend the Square is 
jest the man to boss this ere consarn to-night. Ef 
Biibody objects, I'll appint him. Come, Square, 
don't be bashful. Walk up to the trough, fodder or 
no fodder, as the man said to his donkey." 

There was a general giggle at this, and many of 
the young swains took occasion to nudge the girls 
alongside them, ostensibly for the purpose of making 
them see the joke, but really for the pure pleasure 
of nudging. 

The squire came to the front. 

" Ladies and gentlemen," he began, shoving up his 
spectacles, and sucking his lips over his white teeth 
to keep them in place, ''ladies and gentlemen, young 
men and maidens, raley I'm obleeged to Mr. Means 
fer this honor," and the Squire took both hands and 
turned the top of his head round several inches. 
Then he adjusted his spectacles. Whether he was 
obliged to Mr. Means for the honor of being com- 
pared to' a donkey, was not clear. " I feel in the 
inmost compartments of my animal spirits a most 
happyfying sense of the success and futility of all my 
endeavors to sarve the people of Flat Creek deestrick, 
and the people of Tomkins township, in my weak way 
and manner." This burst of eloquence was delivered 
with a constrained air and an apparent sense of 
danger that he, Squire Hawkins, might fall to pieces 
in his weak way and manner, and of the success and 



THE MASTER.* 

ORANGE JUDD CO., PUBLISHERS.) 

futility (especially the latter) of all attempts at recon- 
struction. For by this time the ghastly pupil of the 
left eye, which was black, was looking away round to 
the left while the little blue one on the right twinkled 
cheerfully toward the front. The front teeth would 
drop down so that the S([uire's mouth was kept nearly 
closed, and his words whistled through. 

" I feel as if I could be grandiloquent on this 
interesting occasion," twisting his scalp round, " but 
raley I must forego any such exertions. It is spelling 
you want. Spelling is the corner-stone, the grand, 
underlying subterfuge of a good eddieation. I put 
the spellin'-book prepared by the great Daniel Web- 
ster alongside the Bible. I do raley. The man who 
got up, who compounded this little work of inextri- 
cable valoo was a benufactor to the whole human 
race or any other." Here the spectacles fell oflf. 
The Squire replaced them in some confusion, gave 
the top of his head another twist, and felt for his 
glass eye, while poor Shocky stared in wonder, and 
Betsy Short rolled from side to side at the point of 
death from the effort to suppress her giggle. Mrs. 
Means and the other old ladies looked the applause 
they could not speak. 

" I appint Larkin Lanham and Jeems Buchanan 
fer captings," said the Squire. And the two young 
men thus named took a stick and tossed it from hand 
to hand to decide who should have the " first chice." 
One tossed the stick to the other, who held it fast 
just where he happened to catch it. Then the first 
placed his hand above the second, and so the hands 
were alternately changed to the top. The one who 
held the stick last without room for the other to take 
hold had gained the lot. This was tried three times. 
As Larkin held the stick twice out of three times, he 
had the choice. He hesitated a moment. Every- 
body looked toward tall Jim Phillips. But Larkin 
was fond of a venture on unknown seas, and so he 
said, " I take the master," while a buzz of surprise 
ran round the room, and the captain of the other 
side, as if afraid his opponent would withdraw the 
choice, retorted quickly, and with a little smack of 
exultation and defiance in his voice : " And / take 
Jeems Phillips." 

And soon all present, except a few of the old folks, 



►Copyright, Orange Judd Co. 



4i8 



EDWARD EGGLESTON. 



found themselves ranged in opposing hosts, the poor 
spellers lagging in, with what grace they could at the 
foot of the two divisions. The Squire opened his 
spelling-book and began to give out the words to the 
two captains, who stood up and spelled against each 
other. It was not long before Larkin spelled " really " 
with one I, and had to sit down in confusion, while a 
murmur of satisfaction ran through the ranks of the 
opposing forces. His own side bit their lips. The 
slender figure of the young teacher took the place 
of the fallen leader, and the excitement made the 
house very quiet. Ralph dreaded the loss of influ- 
ence he would suffer if he should be easily spelled 
down. And at the moment of rising he saw in the 
darkest corner the figure of a well-dressed young man 
sitting in the shadow. It made him tremble. Why 
should his evil genius haunt him ? But by a strong 
efiFort he turned his attention away from Dr. Small, 
and listened carefully to the words which the Squire 
did not pronounce very distinctly, spelling them with 
extreme deliberation. This gave him an air of hesi- 
tation which disappointed those on bis own side. 
They wanted him to spell with a dashing assurance. 
But he did not begin a word until he had mentally 
felt his way through it. After fen minutes of spell- 
ing hard words, Jeems Buchanan, the captain of the 
other side, spelled "atrocious" with an s instead of a 
c, and subsided, his first choice, Jeems Phillips, com- 
ing up against the teacher. This brought the excite-' 
ment to fever-heat. For though Ralph was chosen 
first, it was entirely on trust, and most of the com- 
pany were disappointed. The champion who now 
stood up against the school-master was a famous 
speller. 

Jim Phillips was a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered fellow, 
who had never distinguished himself in any other 
pursuit than spelling. Except in this one art of 
spelling he was of no account. He could neither 
catch a ball well nor bat well. He could not throw 
well enough to make his mark in that famous \Vest- 
ern game of Bull-pen. He did not succeed well in 
any study but that of Webster's Elementary. But 
in that — to use the usual Flat Creek locution — he 
was "a boss." The genius for spelling is in some 
people a sixth sense, a matter of intuition. Some 
spellers are born and not made, and their facility 
reminds one of the mathematical prodigies that crop 



out every now and then to bewilder the world. Bud 
Means, foreseeing that Ralph would be pitted against 
Jim Phillips, had warned his friend that Jim could 
spell " like thunder and lightning," and that it " took 
a powerful smart speller " to beat him, for he knew 
"a heap of spelling-book." To have "spelled down 
the master " is next thing to having whipped the 
biggest bully in Hoophole County, and Jim had 
" spelled down " the last three masters. He divided 
the hero-worship of the district with Bud Means. 

For half an hour the Squire gave out hard words. 
What a blessed thing our crooked orthography is. 
Without it there could be no spelling-schools. As 
Ralph discovered his opponent's mettle he became 
more and more cautious. He was now satisfied that 
Jim would eventually beat him. The fellow evidently 
knew more about the spelling-book than old Noah 
Webster himself As he stood there, with his dull 
face and long sharp nose, his hands behind his back, 
and his voice spelling infallibly, it seemed to Hart- 
sook that his superiority must lie in his nose. Ralph's 
cautiousness answered a double purpose ; it enabled 
him to tread surely, and it was mistaken. by Jim for 
weakness. Phillips was now confident that he should 
carry ofiF the scalp of the fourth school-master before 
the evening was over. He spelled eagerly, confidently, 
brilliantly. Stoop-shouldered as he was, he began to 
straighten up. In the minds of all the company the 
odds were in his favor. He saw this, and became 
ambitious to distinguish himself by spelling without 
giving the matter any thought. 

Ralph always believed that he would have been 
speedily defeated by Phillips had it not been for two 
thoughts which braced him. The sinister shadow of 
young Dr. Small sitting in the dark corner by the 
water-bucket nerved him. A victory over Phillips 
was a defeat to one who wished only ill to the young 
school-master. The other thought that kept his 
pluck alive was the recollection of Bull. He ap- 
proached a word as Bull approached the raccoon. He 
did not take hold until he was sure of his game. 
When he took hold, it was with a quiet assurance of 
success. As Ralph spelled in this dogged way for 
half an hour the hardest words the Squire could find, 
the excitement steadily rose in all parts of the house, 
and Ralph's friends even ventured to whisper that 
"maybe Jim had cotched his match after all!" 



EDWARD EGGLESTON. 



419 



But Phillips never doubted of his success. 

" Theodolite," said the Squire. 

" T-h-e, the, o-d, od, tbeod, o, theodo, 1-y-t-e, 
theodulite," spelled the champion. 

" Next," said the Squire, nearly losing his teeth in 
his excitement. 

Ralph spelled the word slowly and correctly, and 
the conquered champion sat down in confu.sion. The 
excitement was so great for some minutes that the 
spelling was suspended. Everybody in the house 
had shown sympathy with one or other of the com- 
batants, except the silent shadow in the corner. It 
had not moved during the 6ontest, and did not show 
any interest now in the result. 

" Gewhilliky crickets ! Thunder and hghtning ! 
Licked him all to smash ! " said Bud, rubbing his 
hands on his knees. " That beats my time all 
holler ! " 

And Betsy Short giggled until her tuck-comb fell 
out, though she was on the defeated side. 

Shocky got up and danced with pleasure. 

But one suSocating look from the aqueous eyes 
of Mirandy destroyed the last spark of Ralph's 
pleasure in his triumph, and sent that awful below- 
zero feeling all through him. 

" He's powerful smart is the master," said old Jack 
to Mr. Pete Jones. " He'll beat the whole kit and 
tuck of 'em afore he's through. I know'd he was 
smart. That's the reason I tuck him, " proceeded 
Mr. Means. 

" Yaas, but he don't lick enough. Not nigh," 
answered Pete Jones. " No Uckin', no larnin', says I." 

It was now not so hard. The other spellers on 
the opposite side went down quickly under the hard 
words which the Squire gave out. The master had 
mowed down all but a few, his' opponents had given 
up the battle, and all had lost their keen interest in 
a contest to which there could be but one conclusion, 
for there were only the poor spellers left. But Ralph 
flartsook ran against a stump where he was least ex- 
pecting it. It was the Squire's custom, when one of 
the smaller scholars or poorer spellers rose to spell 
against the master, to give out eight or ten easy words 
that they might have some breathing spell before being 
slaughtered, and then to give a poser or two which soon 
settled them. He let them run a little, as a cat does 
a doomed mouse. There was now but one person 



left on the opposite side, and as she rose in her 
blue cahco dress, Ralph recognized Hannah, the 
bound girl at old Jack Means's. She had not 
attended school in the district, and had never 
spelled in spelling-school before, and was chosen 
last as an uncertain quantity. The Squire began 
with easy words of two syllables, from that page of 
Webster, so well-known to all who ever thumbed 
it, as " Baker," from the word that stands at the 
top of the page. She spelled these words in an 
absent and uninterested manner. As everybody 
knew that she would have to go down as soon as 
this preliminary skirmishing was over, everybody 
began t(j get ready to go home, and already there was 
a buzz of preparation. Young men were timidly 
asking girls if they could " see them safe home,'' 
which is the approved formula, and were trembling 
in mortal fear of " the mitten." Presently the 
Squire, thinking it time to close the contest, pulled 
his scalp forward, adjusted his glass eye, which had 
been examining his nose long enough, and turned 
over the leaves of the book to the great words at 
the place known to spellers as " Incomprehensibihty," 
and began to give out those " words of eight syllables 
with the accent on the sixth." Listless scholars now 
turned round, and ceased to whisper, in order to be 
in the master's final triumph. But to their surprise, 
" ole ]Miss Meanses' white nigger, " as some of them 
called her, in allusion to her slavish life, spelled these 
great words with as perfect ease as the master. Still, 
not doubting the result, the Squire turned from place 
to place and selected all the hard words he could find. 
The school became utterly quiet, the excitement waa 
too great for the ordinary buzz. Would " IMeanses' 
Hanner " beat the master? Beat the master that 
had laid out Jim Phillips ? Everybody's sympathy 
was now turned to Hannah. Ralph noticed that even 
Shocky had deserted him, and that his face grew 
brilliant every time Hannah spelled a word. In fact, 
Ralph deserted himself. If he had not felt that 
a victory given would insult her, he would have 
missed intentionally. 

" Daguerreotype," sniffled the Squire. It waa 
Ralph's turn. 

" D-a-u, dau -" 

" Next." 

And Hannah spelled it righti 




'T^r-^-^^ 



HENRY WHEELER SHAW. 




(" JOSH BILLINGS.") 

IT is astonishing what effect is produced by peculiarities of form or 
manner. It may be true that the writings of" Tliomas Carlyle owe' 
much of their force and vigor to his disregard for grammatical rules 
and his peculiar arrangement of words and sentences; but one of tiie 
most surprising instances of this kind is in the fact that the "Essay 
on the Mule, by Josh Billings," received no attention whatever, 
while the same contribution transformed into the "Essa on the Muel, hi Josh 
Billings," was eagerly copied by almost every paper in the country. Josh Billings 
once said that "Chaucer was a great poit, but he couldn't spel," and apparently it 
was jNIr. Shaw's likeness, in this respect, to the author of "Canterbury Tales" 
which won him much of his fame. 

He was the son of a member of the Massachusetts Legislature, born in 1818, 
and entered Hamilton College; but being captivated by stories of Western life and 
adventure, abandoned college to seek his fortune in the West. The fortune was 
slow in coming, and he worked as a laborer on steamboats on the Ohio, and as a 
farmer, and finally drifted back to Poughkeepsie, New York, as an auctioneer. 
Here he wrote his first contribution to a periodical, "The Essa on the Muel," which 
has been above mentioned. 

The popularity of the revised form of this classic of poor spelling induced him 
to jiublish "Josh Billings' Farmers' AUminax," which continued for ten years, 
having during a part of the time a circulation of one hundred and twenty-seven 
thousand copies per annum. In 1863 Mr. Shaw entered the lecture-field. His 
lectures being a series of pithy sayings without care or order, delivered in an 
apparently awkward manner. The quaintness and drollery of his discourse won 
very great popularity. For twenty years he was a regular contributor of "The 
New York Weekly," and it is said that the articles which appeared in "The 
Century Magazine," under the signature of "Uncle Esek," were his. His published 
books are "Josh Billings, His Sayings;" "Josh Billings on Ice;" "Everybody''' 
Friend;" "Josh Billings' Complete Works," and "Josh Billings' Spice Box." 
Mr. Shaw died in Monterey, California, in 1885. 
420 



HENRY WHEELEK SHAW, 



421 



JOSH BILLING'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

(from " JOSH BILLINGS, HIS WORKS." 1870.) 

KAN sell for eighteen hundred and thirty- art could portray. The stables are worthy of the 
nine dollars a pallas, a sweet and pensive steeds ov Nimrod or the studs ov Akilles, and its 

hennery waz bilt expressly for the birds of paradice ; 
[ while sombre in the distance, like the cave ov a 
is luxuriously divided by the hand of natur and art hermit, glimpses are caught ov thedorg-house. Here 
into pastor and tillage, into plain and deklivity, into poets hav cum and warbled their laze — here skulptors 
stern abruptness, and the dallianse ov moss-tufted 1 hav cut, here painters hav robbed the scene ov dreamy 
medder ; streams ov sparkling gladness (thick with i landscapes, and here the philosopher diskovered the 




retirement, lokated on the virgin banks ov 
the Hudson, kontaining eighty-five acres. The land 



trout) danse through this wilderness ov buty tew 
the low musik ov the kricket and grasshopper. The 
evergreen sighs as the evening sephir flits through its 
shadowy buzzum, and the aspen trembles like the 
luv-smitten harteova damsell. Fruits ov the tropicks, 
in golden buty, melt on the bows, and the bees go 
heavy and sweet from the fields to their garnering 
hives. The manshun is ov Parian marble ; the porch 
iz a single diamond, set with rubiz and the mother ov 
pearl ; the floors are ov rosewood, and the ceilings are 
more Dutiful than the starry vault of heaven. Hot 
and cold water bubbles and quirts in evry apartment, 
and nothing is wanting that a poet could pra for, or 



stun which made him the alkimist ov natur. Next, 
northward ov this thing ov buty, sleeps the resi- 
dence and domain ov the Duke, John Smith, while 
southward, and nearer the spice-breathing tropicks, 
may be seen the barronial villy ov J^arl Brown and 
the Duchess, Widder Betsy Stevens. Walls ov 
primitiff rock, laid in Koman cement, bound the 
estate, while upward and downward the eye catches 
the magesta and slow grander ov the Hudson. As 
the young moon bangs like a cutting ov silver from 
the blue brest ov the ski, an angel may be seen each 
night dansing with golden tiptoes on the green. (N, 
B. — This angel goes with the place.) 



MANIFEST DESTINY. 




|ANIFESS destiny iz the science ov going 
tew bust, or enny other place before yu git 
thare. I may be rong in this centiment, 
but that iz the way it strikes me ; and i am so put 
together that when enny thing strikes me i imme- 
jiately strike back. Manifess destiny mite perhaps 
be blocked out agin as the condishun that man and 
things find themselfs in with a ring in their nozes 
and sumboddy hold ov the ring. 1 may be rong agin, 
but if i am, awl i have got tew sa iz i don't kno it, 
and what a man don't kno ain't no damage tew enny 
boddy else. The tru way that manifess destiny had 
better be sot down iz the exact distance that a frog 
kan jump down bill with a striped snake after him ; i 
don't kno but i may be rong oust more, but if the 
frog don't git ketched the destiny iz jist what he iz 
a looking for. 

When a man falls into the bottom ov a well and 
makes up hiz minde tew stay thare, that ain't mani- 
fesf destiny enny more than having yure hair cut short 



iz ; but if he almost gits out and then falls down in 
agin 16 foot deeper and brakes oft" hiz neck twice in 
the same plase and dies and iz buried thare at low 
water, that iz manifess destiny on the square. Stand- 
ing behind a cow in fly time and gitting kicked twice 
at one time must feel a good deal like manifess 
destiny. Being about 10 seckunds tew late tew git 
an express train, ami then chasing the train with yure 
wife, and an umbreller in yure hands, in a hot day, 
and not getting as near tew the train az you waz 
when started, looks a leetle like manifess destiny 
on a rale rode trak. Going into a tempranse house 
and calhng for a leetle old Bourbon on ice, and being 
told in a mild way that " the Bourbon iz jist out, but 
they hav got sum gin that cost 72 cents a gallon in 
Paris," sounds tew me like the manifess destiny ov 
most tempranse houses. 

Mi dear reader, don't beleave in manifess destiny 
until yu see it. Thare is such a thing az manifess 
destiny, but when it occurs it iz like the number ov 



422 



HENRY WHEELER SHAW. 



rings on the rakoon's tale, ov no great consequense 
only for ornament. Man wan't made for a machine, 
if he waz, it was a locomotiff machine, and manifess 
destiny must git oph from the trak \t'hen the bell 
rings or git knocked higher than the price ov gold. 
Manifess destiny iz a disseaze, but it iz eazy tew heal ; 
i have seen it in its wust stages cured bi sawing a 



cord ov dri hickory wood, i thought i had it onse; 
it broke out in the shape ov poetry ; i sent a speci- 
ment ov the disseaze tew a magazine ; the magazine 
man wrote me next day az foUers : 

" Dear Sur : You may be a phule, but you are no 
poeck. Yures, in haste." 



LETTERS TO FARMERS. 




ilELOVED FARMERS : Agrikultur iz the 
mother ov farm produce ; she is also the 
step-mother ov gardin sass. 
Rize at half-past 2 o'clock in the morning, bild up- 
a big fire in the kitchen, burn out two pounds ov 
kandles, and grease yure boots. Wait pashuntly for 
dabrake. When day duz brake, then commence tew 
stir up the geese and worry the hogs. 

Too mutch sleep iz ruinous tew geese and tew hogs. 
Remember yu kant git rich on a farm, unless yu rize 
at 2 o'clock in the morning, and stir up the hogs and 
werry the geese. 



The happyest man in the world iz the farmer ; he 
rizes at 2 o'clock in the morning, he watches for da 
lite tew brake, and when she duz brake, he goes out 
and stirs up the geese and worrys the hogs. 

What iz a lawyer ?• — What iz a merchant ? — What 
iz a doktor '? — What iz a minister ? — I answer, noth- 
ing ! 

A farmer is the nobless work ov God ; he rizes at 
2 o'clock in the morning, and burns out a half a 
pound ov wood and two kords of kandles, and then 
goes out tew worrj- the geese and stir up the hogs 

Beloved farmers, adew. Josh Billings. 



^•^^<^ 




SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. 

(mark twain). 




ARK TWAIN has a world wide reputation as the great American 
humorist, a reputation which has been steadily growing at home and 
abroad since the publication of " Innocents Abroad " in 1869, and 
he is undoubtedly one of the most popular authors in the United 
States. The story of his life is the record of a career which could 
have been possible in no other country in the world. 
He was born in Florida in 1835, though most of his boyhood was passed at 
Hanibal, Mo., where he attended the village school until he was thirteen, which was 
his only opportunity for educational training. At this early age he was apprenticed 
to a printer and worked at this trade in St. Louis, Cincinnatti, Philadelphia and 
New York. During his boyhood his great anibition, his one yearning, had been to 
become one day a pilot on a Mississippi steamboat. He realized this ambition in 
1851 and the experiences of this pilot life are told in his " Life on the Mississippi." 
His pen-name was suggested by the expression used in Mississippi navigation where 
in sounding a depth of two fathoms, the leadsman calls out, " Mark Twain !" 

After serving in 18(31 in Nevada as private secretary to his brother who was at 
this time secretary of the Territory, he became city editor of the Virginia City 
"Enterprise," and here his literary labors began, and the pseudonym now so 
familiar was first used. 

In 1865, he was reporter on the staff of the San Francisco " Morning Call," 
though his newspaper work was interspersed with unsuccessful attempts at gold 
digging and a six months' trip to Hawaii. 

This was followed by a lecture trip through California and Nevada, which gave 
unmistakable evidence that he had the "gift" of humor. 

His fame, however, was really made by the publication of " Innocents Abroad " 
(Hartford, 1869), 125,000 copies of which were sold in three years. This book is a 
brilliant, humorous account of the travels, experiences and opinions of a party of 
tourists to the Mediterranean, Egypt, Palestine, France and Italy. 

His next literary work of note was the publication of " Roughing It " (Hart- 
ford, 1872), which "shook the sides of readers all over the United States. This con- 
tained inimitable sketches of the rough border life and personal experiences in Cali- 
fornia, Nevada and Utah. In fact all Mark Twain's literary work which bears the 
stamp of permanent worth and merit is personal and autobiographical. He is never 
80 successful in works that are purely of an imaginative character. 

423 



424 



SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. 



In 1873, in conjunction with Charles Dudley Warner, he produced a story 
entitled the " Gilded Age " whicli >vas dramatized and had a marked success on the 
stage. His other well-known works are : " Sketches Old and New ; " " Adventures 
of Tom Sawyer " (1876), a storv of boy life in Missouri and one of his best produc- 
tions, " Punch, Brothers, Punch" (1878); " A Tramp Abroad" (1880), containing 
some of his most humorous and successful descriptions of personal experiences on a 
trip through Germany and Switzerland ; " The Stolen White Elephant " (1882) ; 
" Prince aiid the Pauper " (1882) ; "Life on the Mississippi " (1883) ; " Adventures 
of Huckleberry Finn" (1885), a sequel to "Tom Sawyer;" "A Yankee at King 
Arthur's Court" and Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc" (1896). 

In 1884, he established in New York City the publishing house of C. L. 
Webster & Co., which issued in the following year the " Memoirs " of U. S. 
Grant, the profits from which publication to the amount of $350,000 were paid 
to Mrs. Grant in accordance with an agreement previously signed with Geueial 
Gi'ant. 

By the unfortunate failure of this company in 1895, Mark Twain found himself 
a 250or man and moralh', though not legally, responsible for large sums due the 
creditois. Like Sir Walter Scott, he resolved to wipe out the last dollar of the debt 
and at once entered upon a lecturing trip around the world, which effort is proving 
financially a success. He is also at work upon a new book soon to be published. 
His home is at Hartford, Connecticut, where he lias lived in delightful friendship 
and intercourse with Charles Dudley Warner, Harriet Beecher Stowe and other 
literary characters of that cit3^ His writings have been translated into German and 
they have met with large sales both in England and on the continent. 



JIM SMILEY'S FROG. 




! ELL. this yer Smiley had rat-taniers, and 
chicken-eocks. and all them kind of things, 
till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch 
nothins; for him to bet on but he'd match you. He 
ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said 
he cal'klatec." to edercate him ; and so he never done 
nothing for three months but set in his back yard and 
learn that frog to jump. And you bet he did learn 
him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and 
the nest minute you'd see that frog whirling in the 
air like a doughnut, — see him turn one summerset, or 
maybe a couple, if he got a good start, and come down 
flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up 
so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in 
practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time 
as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog 
wanted was education, and he could do most any- 
thing ; and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set 
Dan'l Webster down here on this floor, — Dan'l Web- 



ster was the name of the frog, — and sing out, " Flies, 
Dan'l, flies," and quicker'n you could wink he'd 
spring straight up, and snake a fly ofi''n the counter 
there, and flop down on the floor again, as solid as a 
gob of mud. and fall to scratching the side of his head 
with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea 
he'd been doing any more'n any frog might do. You 
never see a frog so modest and straightfor'ard as he 
was, for all he was so gifted. And when it came to 
fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get 
over more ground at one straddle than any animal of 
his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was 
his strong suit, you understand ; and when it come to 
that. Smiley would ante up money on him as long as 
he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his 
frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had trav- 
eled and been everywhere, all said he laid over any 
frog that ever the?/ see. 

Well, Smiley kept the bea.st in a little lattice box, 



SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. 



425 



and he used to fetch him down town sometimes, and 
lay for a bet. One day a feller, — a stranger in the 
camp he was, — came across him with his box, and 
sajs: 

" What might it be that you've got in the bos ? " 

And Smiley says sorter indifferent Uke, " It might 
be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it 
ain't, — it's only just a frog." 

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and 
turned it round this way and that, and says, " H'm ! 
so 'tis. Well, what's he good for ? " 

" Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, " he's good 
enough for one thing, I should judge — he can outjump 
any frog in Calaveras County." 

The feller took the box again, and took another long 
particular look, and gave it back to Smiley, and says, 
very deliberate, " Well, I don't see no pints about 
that frog that's any better'n any other frog." 

" May be you don't," Smiley says. " May be you 
understand frogs, and may be you don't understand 
'cm ; may be you've had experience, and may be you 
ant only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got 
my opinion, and I'll risk forty dollars that he can out- 
jump any frog in Calaveras County. 

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, 
kinder sad like, " Well, I'm only a stranger here, and 
I ain't got no frog ; but if I had a frog, I'd bet 
you." 

And then Smiley says, " That's all right, that's all 
right ; if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get 
you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put 
up his forty dollars along with Smiley 's and set down 
to wait. So he set there a good while, thinking and 
thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and 
prized his mouth open, and took a teaspoon and filled 



him full of quail shot, — filled him pretty near up to 
his chin, — and set him on the floor. Smiley he went 
to the swamp, and slopped around in the mud for a 
long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched 
him in, and give him to this feller, and says : 

■' Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, 
with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give 
the word." Then he says, " One — two — three — 
jump ; " and him and the feller touched up the frogs 
from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l 
gave a heave and hysted up his shoulders, — so, — like a 
Frenchman, but it wasn't no use, — he couldn't budge ; 
he. was planted as sulid as an anvil, and he couldn't 
no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was 
a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted, too, but 
he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of 
coui'se. 

The feller took the money and started away ; and 
when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked 
his thumb over his shoulders, — this way, — at Dan'l, 
and says again, very deliberate, " Well, /don't see no 
p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other 
frog." 

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking 
down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, '• I do 
wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for ; 
I wonder if there an't something the matter with 
him, he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." 
And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and 
lifted him up, and says, " Why, blame my cats, if he 
don't weigh five pound ! ' and turned him upside 
down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. 
And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest 
man. He set the frog down, and took out after that 
feller, but he never ketched him. 



UNCLE DAN'L'S APPARITION AND PRAYER. 




(from "the gilded age" 
DEEP coughing sound troubled the stillness, 
way toward a wooded cape that jutted into 
the stream a mile distant. All in an in- 
stant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind the cape 
and sent a long brilliant pathway quivering athwart 
the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and 
louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, 
glared wilder and still wilder. A huge shape de- 



ep CLEMEN.S AND WARNER.) 

veloped itself out of the gloom, and from its tall 
duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and 
spangled with sparks, poured out and went tumbling 
away into the farther darkness. Nearer and nearer 
the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with 
spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river 
and attended the monster like a torchlight procession. 
" What is it ? Oh, what is it, Uncle Dan'l 1 " 



426 



SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. 



With deep solemnity the answer came : 
'■ It's de Almighty ! Git down on yo' knees !" 
It was not necessary to say it twice. They were 
all kneeling in a moment. And then while the mys- 
terious coughing rose stronger and stronger and the 
threatening glare reached farther and wider, the 
negro's voice lifted up its supplications : 
I " Lord, we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows 
dat we 'zerve to go to de bad place, but good Lord, 
deah Lord, we ain't ready yit, we ain't ready — let 
these po' chil'en hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' 
chance. Take de old niggah if you's got to hab some- 
body. Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don't know 
whah you's a gwine to, we don't know who you's got 
yo' eye on, but we knows by de way you's a comin,' 
■we knows by the way you's a tiltin' along in yo' 
charyot o' fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwine to ketch 
it. But, good Lord, dese chil'en don' b'long heah, 
day's f m Obedstown whah dey don't know nuffin, 
an' yo' knows, yo' own sef, dat dey ain't 'sponsible. 
An' deah Lord, good Lord, it ain't like yo' mercy, 
it ain't like yo' pity, it ain't like yo' long-sufFerin' 
lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' 
sich little chil'en as dese is when dey's so many onery 
grown fnlks chuck fuUo' cussedness dat wants roastin' 
down dah. Lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar 
de little chil'en away f 'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off dis 
once, and take it out'n de ole niggah. Heah I is, 
Lord, heah I is ! De ole niggah's ready. Lord, de 

ole " 

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast 
the party, and not twenty steps away. The awful 
thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drown- 
ing the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched 
a child under each arm and scoured into the woods 
with the rest of the pack at his heels. And then 
ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness 
'and shouted (but rather feebly) : 
" Heah I is. Lord, heah I is ! " 
There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and 
then, to the surprise and comfort of the party, it was 
plain that the august presence had gone by, for 
its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l 
headed a cautious reconnoissance in the direction 
of the log. Sure enough " the Lord " was just 
turning a point a short distance up the river, and 
while they looked the lights winked out and the 



coughing diminished by degrees and presently ceased 
altogether. 

" H'wsh ! Well, now, dey's some folks says dey 
ain't no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to 
know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' dat prah 1 
Dat's it. Dat's it ! " 

" Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that 
saved us ? " said Clay. 

" Does T reckon ? Don't I hnoic it ! Whah was 
yo' eyes? Warn't de Lord jes' a comin' chow! 
chow .' CHOW ! an' a goin' on turrible — an' do de Lord 
carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him? 
An' warn't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an 
warn't he jes' a reachin' fer 'em ? An' d'you spec' he 
gwine to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? 
No indeedy ! " 

"Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan'l?" 

" De law sakes, chile, didn't I see him a lookin' at 
us?" 

" Did you feel scared. Uncle Dan'l ? " 

"No sab ! When a man is gaged in prah he ain't 
'fraid o' nuffin — dey can't nuffin tech him." 

" Well, what did you run for?" 

" Well, I — I — Mars Clay, when a man is under de 
influence ob de sperit, he do-no what he's 'bout — 
no sab ; dat man do-no what he's 'bout. You 
might take an' tab de head off'n dat man an' he 
wouldn't scasely fine it out. Dab's de Hebrew chil'en 
dat went frough de fiah ; dey was burnt considable — 
ob coase dey was ; but dey did'nt know nuffin 'bout 
k — heal right up agin ; if dey'd been gals dey'd missed 
dey long haah (hair), maybe, but dey wouldn't felt 
de burn." 

" / dont know but what they were girls. I think 
they were." 

" Now, Mars Clay, you knows better'n dat. Some- 
times a body can't tell whedder you's a sayin' 
what you means or whedder you's a sajdng what 
you don't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same 
way." 

" But how should I know whether they were boys 
or girls? " 

" Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book 
say ? 'Sides don't it call 'em de .He-brew chil'en ? If 
dey was gals wouldn't dey be de she-brew chil'en ? 
Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no no- 
tice when dey do read." 



SAMUEL L. CLEMENS. 



427 



" Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that My ! here 1 'long, chil'en, time you's gone to roos'. Go 'long wid 

comes another one up the river ! There can't be twu." ' you — ole Uncle Dan'l gwine out in de woods to rastle 
'• We gone dis time — we done gone dis time sho' ! in prah — de ole niggah gwine to do wliut lie kin to 



Dey ain't two. Mars Clay, dat's de same one. De Lord 
kin 'pear everywhah in a second. Goodness, how de 



sabe you agin ! " 

He did go to the woods and pray ; but he went so 



fiah an' de smoke do belch up ! Dat means business, far that he doubted himself it' the Lord heard him 
honey. He comin' now like he forgot sumtin. Come ' when he went by. 



THE BABIES. 




From a speech of Mark Twain at the banquet giv 
nessee, at the Palmer Hous 

JlO AST :— " The Babies— As they comfort us j 
in our sorrows, let us not forget them in ' 
our festivities." 
I like that. We haven't all had the good fortune 
to be ladies ; we haven't all been generals, or poets, 
or statesmen ; but when the toast works down to the 
babies, we stand on common ground, for we have all 
been babies. It is a shame that for a thousand j'ears 
the world's banquets have utterly ignored the baby — 
as if Iir didn't amount to anything! If you gentle- 
men will stop and think a minute, — if you will go 
back fifty or a hundred years, to your early married 
life, and recontemplate your first baby, you will re- 
member that he amounted to a good deal, and even 
something over. You soldiers all know that when 
that little fellow arrived at family head-quarters you 
had to hand in your resignation. He took entire 
command. You became his lackey, his mere body- 
servant, and you had to stand around, too. He was 
not a commander who made allowances for time, dis- 
tance, weather, or anything else. You had to execute 
his order whether it was possible or not. And there 
was only one form of marching in his manual of 
tactics, and that was the double-quick. He treated 
you with every sort of insolence and disrespect, and 
the bravest of you didn't dare to say a word. You 
could face the death-storm of Donelson and Vicks- 
burg, and give back blow for blow ; but when he 
clawed your whiskers, and pulled your hair, and 
twisted your nose, you had to take it. When the 
thunders of war were sounding in your ears, you set 
your faces toward the batteries and advanced with 
steady tread ; but when he turned on the terrors of 
his war-whoop, you advanced in the other direction — 
and mighty glad of the chance, too. When he called 



en in honor of Gen. Grant, by the Army of the Ten- 
e, Chicago, Nov. 14, 1879. 

for soothing syrup, did you venture to throw out any 
side remarks about certain services unbecoming an 
officer and a gentleman ? No, — you got up and got 
it. If he ordered his bottle, and it wasn't warm, did 
you talk back ? Not you, — you went to work and 
warmed it. You even descended so far in your 
menial office as to take a suck at that warm, insipid 
stufi' yourself, to see if it was right, — three parts 
water to one of milk, a touch of sugar to modify the 
colic, and a drop of peppermint to kill those immortal 
hiccups. I can taste that stuff yet. And how many 
things you learned as you went along ; sentimental 
young folks still took stock in that beautiful old say- 
ing that when the baby smiles in his sleep, it is be- 
cause the angels are whispering to him. Very pretty, 
but '-too thin," — simply wind on the stomach, my 
friends ! If the baby proposed to take a walk at his 
usual hour, 2:30 in the morning, didn't you rise up 
promptly and remark — with a mental addition which 
wouldn't improve a Sunday-school book much — that 
that was the very thing you were about to propose 
yourself! Oh, you were under good discipline ! And 
as you went fluttering up and down the room in your 
" undress uniform " you not only prattled undignified 
baby-talk, but even tuned up your martial voices and 
tried to sing " Roekaby baby in a tree-top," for in 
stance. What a spectacle for an Army of the Ten- 
nessee ! And what an affliction for the neighbors, 
too, — for it isn't everybody within a mile around that 
likes military music at three in the morning. And 
when you had been keeping this sort of thing up 
two or three hours, and your little velvet-head inti- 
mated that nothing suited him like exercise and 
noise, — " Go on ! " — what did you do ? You simply 
went on, till you disappeared in the last ditch. 



r'(r^ L^(%(^^- 



iiiiiiiiiMniiiliiiNiihiiiiiiiiniHtuKiiiiiMMiimiiiiiii 

1 a aw g> a w g < <i g a » o o j'i e' i ' 



/1\.,.' i\_.-i\.,-'iN.-'i'..-'i'. ,-'<'■■ -'i\yi'-..-'i'- -'i'-_-'r..--i>-.-'i 






ildS 



-71-- 



B a iia a q j a a a a o i^ o o i:* a o i^ o a o q a (.» a < : 



-,7K 



jau'ijVj'QQl; 



^niliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinmiiriMiiiii 



=€:»r^=^ 



CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



AUTHOR OF LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. 




|HE humorous and dialectic literature of America owes more to Cliarles 
Follen Adams perhaps than to any other contributor who has not 
made literature a business or dej^ended upon his j^en for his livelihood. 
There is not a pretentious book of humorous readings or popular 
selections of late years which has not enriched its pages from this 
pleasingly funny man who delineates the German-American 
character and imitates its dialect with an art that is so true to nature as to be 
well-nigh perfection. "The Puzzled Dutchman;" "Mine Vamily;" "Mine Moder- 
in-Law;" "Der Vater Mill ;" "Der Drummer," and, above all, "Dot Leedle Yawcob 
Strauss," have become classics of their kind and will not soon suffer their author to 
be forgotten. 

Charles Follen Adams was born in Dorchester, Mass., April 21, 1842, where he 
received a common school education, leaving school at fifteen years of age to take a 
position in a business house in Boston. This place he occupied until August, 1862, 
when he enlisted, at the age of twenty, in the Thirteenth Massachusetts Regiment of 
Volunteers, and saw service in a number of hard-fought battles. At Gettysburg, 
in 1863, he was wounded and held a prisoner for three days until the Union forces 
recaptured the town. After the close of the war he resumed business, and succeeded 
in placing himself at the head of a large business house in Boston, where he has 
continued to reside. 

It was not until 1870 that Mr. Adams wrote his first poem, and it was two years 
later that his first dialectic effort, " The Puzzled Dutchman," appeared and made 
his name known. From that time he begun to contribute "as the spirit moveil him" 
to the local papers, "Oliver Optic's Magazine," and, now and then, to "Scribner's." 
In 1876 he became a regular contributor to the "Detroit Free Press," his "Leedle 
Yawcob Strauss" being published in that paper in June, 1876. For many years 
all his productions were published in that journal, and did much to enhance its 
growing popularity as a humorous paper. 

As a genial, companionable man in business and social circles, Mr. Adams has 
as great distinction among his friends as he holds in the literary world as a humorist. 
His house is one of marked hospitality where the fortunate guest always finds a 
cordial welcome. 
428 



CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



429 




DER 

no puts oup at der pest hotel, 

Und dakes his oysders on der schell, 
\ nd mit der frauleiiis cuts a schwell ? 
Der drummer. 



Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore, 
Drows down his pundles on der vloor, 
Und liefer schtops to shut der door? 
Der drummer. 

Who dakes me py der handt, und say, 
" Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day?" 
Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay? 
Der drummer. 

Who shpreads his zamples in a trice, 
Und dells me, " Look, und see how nice?" 
Und says I. get " de/ bottom price?" 
Der drummer. 

Who dells iiow sheap der goods vas bought, 
Mooch less as vot I gould imbort, 



DRUMiMP^R.* 

But lets dem go as he vas " short?" 
Der drummer. 

Who says der tings vas eggstra vine, — ■ 
" Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine," — 
Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine 7 
Der drummer. 

Who varrants all der goots to suit 
Der gustomers ubon his route, 
Und ven dey gomes dey vas no goot? 
Der drummer. 

Who gomes aroundt ven I been oudt, 
Drinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut, 
Und kiss Katrina in der mout' ? 
Der drummer. 

Who, ven he gomes again dis vay, 
Vill hear vot Pfeiffer has to say, 
Und mit a plack eye goes avay ? 
- Der drummer. 



HANS AND FRITZ.* 




\NS and Fritz were two Deutschers who 
lived side by side, 
Remote from the world, its deceit and its 
pride : 
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were 

spent, 
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content. 

Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day, 
And, lacking a part of the Geld,— as they say, — 
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan 
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend. 
And gave the re()iured amount to his friend ; 
Remarking, — his own simple laniruage to quote, — ■ 
" Berbaps it vas bedder ve make us a note." 

The note was drawn up in their primitive way, — - 
" I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day ; " 



When the question arose, the note being made, 
" Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?" 

" You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den you vill know 
Yon owes me dot money." Says Hans, " Dot ish so : 
Dot makes me remempers I half dot to bay, 
Und I prings you der note und der money some day." 

A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed. 
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed. 
Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us." Hans replies, 

" Yaw : 
Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ? " 

" I geeps dot now, aind't it ? " says Fritz; " den you 

see, 
I alvays remempers you paid dot to me." 
Says Hans, " Dot ish so : it vas now shust so blain, 
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again." 



YAWCOB STRAUSS.* 




HAF von funny leedle poy, 

Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; 
Der queerest schap, der createst rogue, 
As efer you dit see, 



He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings 

In all harts off der house : 
But vot off dot ? he vas mine son. 

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 



* Special Permission of the Author. 



43° 



CHAKLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



He get der measles und der mumbs, 

Und eferyding dot's oudt ; 
He sbills mine glass off lager bier, 

Pools schnufif indo mine kraut. 
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese.- 

Dot vas der roughest cbouse : 
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy 

But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 

Und cuts mine cane in dwo, 
To make der schticks to beat it mit. — 

Mine cracious dot vas drue ! 
I dinks mine bed vas schplit abart, 

He kicks oup soocb a touse : 
But nefer mind ; der poys vas few 

Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 



lie asks me questions soocb as dese . 

Who baints mine nose so red'? 
Who vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt 

Vrom der hair ubon mine bed ? 
Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 

Vene er der glim 1 douse 
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain 

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss? 

I somedimes dink I schall go vild 

Mit soocb a gnizy poy, 
Und vish vonce more I gould baf rest, 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; 
But ven he vas ashleep in ped, 

So guiet as a mouse, 
I prays der Lord, " Dake anyding, 

But leaf dot Y'awcob Strauss." 



MINE MODEK-IN-LAW * 




|HERE vas many qveer dings in dis land of 
der free, 
I neifer could qvite understand ; 
Der beoples dbey all seem so deefrent to me 
As dhose in mine own faderland. 
Dbey gets blendy droubles, und indo mishaps 

^litout der least bit off a cause ; 
Und vould you pelief it ? dhose mean Y'angee chaps, 
Dbey fights mit dbeir moder-in-laws ? 

Shust dink off a white man so vicked as dat ? 

Vhy not gife der oldt lady a show ? 
Who vas it gets oup, ven der nighdt id vas hot, 

3Iit mine baby, I sbust like to know ? 
Und dhen in dber vinter vhen Katrine vas sick 

Und der mornings vas shnowy und raw, 
Who made rigbdt avay oup dot fire so quick ? 

Vhy, dot vas mine moder-in-law. 



Id vas von off dhose voman's rigbdts vellers I been, 

Dhere vas noding dot's mean aboudt me ; 
Vhen der oldt lady vishes to run dot masheen, 

Vhy, I shust let her run id, you see. 
Und vhen dot shly Y'awcob vas cutting some dricks, 

(A block off der oldt chip he vas, yaw !) 
Ef he goes for dot shap like some dousand off 
bricks, 

Dot's all rigbdt ! She's mine moder-in-law. 

Veek oudt und veek in, id vas always der same, 

Dot vomen vas boss off der bouse ; 
But, dehn, nefl'er mindt ! I vas glad dot she came. 

She vas kind to mine ynung Y'awcob Strause. 
Und ven dhere vas vater to get vrom der spring 

Und firevood to spblit oup and saw 
She vas velcome to do it, Dhere's not anyding 

Dot's too good for mine moder-in-law. 



' Copyright, Harper & Bros. 



EDGAR WILSON NYE. 




(bill NYE.) 

MONG those who liave shaken the sides of the fun-loving citizens of 
the United States and many in tiie old world with genuine wit and 
droll humor, our familiar and purely American "Bill Nye" must be 
numbered. 

Edgar Wilson Nye was a born "funny man" whose humor was 
as irrepressible as his disposition to breathe air. The very face of 
the man, while far from being homely, as is frequently judged from comic pictures 
of him, was enough to provoke the risibility of the most sedate and unsmiling citi- 
zens in any community. When Mr. Nye walked out on the platform to exhibit in 
his plain manner a few samples of his "Baled Hay," or offer what he was pleased 
to term a few " Remarks," or to narrate one or more of the tales told by those famous 
creatures of his imagination known as "The Forty Liars," — before a word was 
uttered an infectious smile often grew into a roaring laugh. 

Edgar Wilson Nye was born at Shirley, Maine, 1850. His parents removed to 
Wisconsin, and thence to Wyoming Territory when he was but a boy, and he grew 
up amid the hardships and humorous aspects of frontier life, which he has so amus- 
ingly woven into the warp and the woof of his early "yarns." Mr. Nye studied 
law and was admitted to the bar in 1876 ; but practiced his profession only one year. 
Afterwards he reported for the newspapers, and, in 1878, began to write regularly 
a weekly humorous letter for the Sunday papers in the AVest. This he continued 
to do for several years, receiving good compensation therefor, and his reputation as 
a humorous writer grew steadily and rapidly. 

Li 1884, Mr. Nye came to New York and organized the Nye Trust, or Syndi- 
cate, through which a weekly letter from him should simultaneously appear in the 
journals of the principal cities of the Union. This increased his fame; and during 
the later years of his life he was engaged much of his time on the lecture platform, 
sometimes alone, and sometimes in company with other prominent authors. He 
and the poet, James Whitcorab Riley, did considerable touring together and were 
enthusiastically welcomed wherever they went, the people invariably turning out in 
large numbers to enjoy a feast of fun and good feeling which this pair of prominent 
and typical Westerners never failed to treat them to. 

Among the most humorous of Mr. Nye's recent writings were his famous letters 
from Buck's Shoals, North Carolina, where, in his imagination, he established him- 
self as a southern farmer, and dealt out his rural philosophy and comments on cur- 

431 



432 



EDGAR WILSON NYE, 



rent events to the delight, not only of the farmei's — many of whom imagined that 
he was really one of them — but of every class of readers throughout the country. 

In 1894 Mr. Nye turned his attention to another branch of humor, and brought 
out "Bill Nye's History of the United States." The drollery and humor of this 
work is unsurpassed — the interest and delight of the reader being greatly enhanced 
by the fact that he followed the chronological thread of the real historic narrative 
on which he pours the sidelights of his side-splitting humor. The success of this 
book was so great that Mr. Nye was preparing to go abroad to write humorous 
histories of England and other European countries when he suddenly died in 1896, 
in the 47th year of his age. 

After his death Mrs. Nye went abroad, stojjping in Berlin for the education of her 
children. The royalty on "Bill Nye's" books brings an ample support for his 
family. 



THE WILD COW. 

(clipping from newspaper.) 




HEX I was young and used to roam around 
liver the country, gathering water-melons 
in the light of the moon, I used to think 
I could milk anybody's cow, but I do not think so 
now. I do not mUk a cow now unless the sign is 
right, and it hasn't been right for a good many years. 
The last cow I tried to milk was a common cow, 
born in obscurity ; kind of a self-made cow. I 
remember her brow was low, but she wore her tail 
high and she was haughty, oh, so haughty. . 

I made a common-place remark to her, one that is 
used in the very best of society, one that need not 
have given offence anywhere. I said, " So " — and 
she " soed." Then I told her to "hist" and she 
histed. But I thought she overdid it. She put too 
much expression in it. 



Just then I heard something crash through the 
window of the barn and fall with a dull, sickening 
thud on the outside. The neighbors came to see 
what it was that caused the noise. They found 
that I had done it in getting through the window. 

I asked the neighbors if the barn was still stand- 
ing. They said it was. Then I asked if the cow was 
injured much. They said she seemed to be quite 
robust. Then I requested them to go in and calm 
the cow a little, and see if they could get my plug 
hat off her horns. 

I am buying all my milk m)w of a milkman. I 
select a gentle milkman who will not kick, and feel 
as though I could trust him. Then, if he feels as 
though he could trust me. it is all right. 




MR. WHISK'S 

she said to him : " Oh, darling, I fear 
that my wealth hath taught thee to love 
me, and if it were to take wings unto 
itself thou wouldst also do the same." 

" Nay, Gwendolin," said Mr. Whisk, softly, as he 
drew her he.id down upon his shoulder and tickled 
the lobe of her little cunning ear with the end of his 
moustache, " I love not thy dollars, but thee alone. 
Also elsewhere. If thou doubtest me, give thy 
wealth to the poor. Give it to the World's Fair. 
Give it to the Central Pacific Railroad. Give it to 
any one who is suffering." 



TRUE LOVE. 

" No," she unto him straightway did make answer, 
" I could not do that, honey." 

" Then give it to your daughter," said Mr. Whisk, 
" if you think I am so low as to love alone your yellow 
dross." He then drew him.self up to his full height. 

She flew to his arms like a frightened dove that 
has been hit on the head with a rock. Folding her 
warm round arms about his neck, she sobbed with 
joy and gave her entire fortune to her daughter. 

Mr. Whisk then married the daughter, and went 
on about his business. I sometimes think that, at the 
best, man is a great coarse thing. 



EDGAK WILSON NYE. 



433 



THE DISCOVERY OF NEW YORK. 

FROM " BILL NYE's HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, 1894." 
By Permission of J. B. Lippincott Go. 




HE author will now refer to the discovery of 
the Hudson River and the town of New 
Y'^ork via Fort Lee and the 125th Street 
Ferry. 

New York was afterwards sold for twenty-four dol- 
lars, — the whole island. When I think of this I go 
into my family gallery, which I also use as a swear 
room, and tell those ancestors of mine what I think 
of them. Where were they when New York was 



sold for twenty-four dollars? Were they having 
their portraits painted by Landseer, or their disposi- 
tion taken by Jeffreys, or having their Little Lord 
Fauntleroy clothes made ? 

Do not encourage them to believe that they will 
escape me in future years. Some of them died un- 
regenerate, and are now, I am told, in a country 
where they may possibly be damned ; and I will at- 
tend to the others personally. 




Twenty-four dollars for New York ! Why, my 
Croton-water tax on one house and lot with fifty 
feet four and one-fourth inches front is fifty-nine dol- 
lars and no questions asked. Why, you can't get a 
Toter for that now. 

Henry — or Hendrik — Hudson was an English 
navigator, of whose birth and early-Aistory nothing 
is known definitely, hence his name is never men- 
tioned in many of the best homes of New York. 

In 1607 he made a voyage in search of the 
North West Passage. In one of his voyages he dis- 
covered Cape Cod, and later on the Hudson River. 

This was one hundred and seventeen years after 
Columbus discovered America ; which shows that the 
discovering business was not pushed as it should have 
been by those who had it in charge. 

Hudson went up the river as far as Albany, but, 
28 



finding no one there whom he knew, he hastened 
back as far as 209th Street West, and anchored. 

He discovered Hudson Bay and Hudson Strait, 
and made other journeys by water, though aquatting 
was then in its infancy. Afterwards his sailors 
became mutinous, and set Hendrik and his son, with 
seven infirm sailors, afloat. 

Ah ! Whom have we here ? 

It is Hendrik Hudson, who discovered the Hud- 
son River. 

Here he has just landed at the foot of 209th 
Street, New York, where he offered the Indians 
liquor, but they refused. 

How 209th. Street has changed ! 

The artist has been fortunate in getting the expres- 
sion of the Indians in the act of refusing. Mr. Hud- 
son's great reputation lies in the fact that he dis- 



434 



EDGAK WILSON NYE. 



eovered the river which bears his name ; but the ] 
thinking mind will at once regard the discovery of an 
Indian who does not drink as far more wonderful. 

Some historians say that this special delegation 
was swept away afterwards by a pestilence, whilst 
others, commenting on the incident, maintain that 
Hudson hed. 

It is the only historical question regarding America 
not fully settled by this book. 

Nothing more was heard by him till he turned up 
in a thinking part in " Rip Van Winkle." 

Many claims regarding the discovery of various 
parts of the United States had been previously made. 
The Cabots had discovered Labrador ; the Spaniards 
the southern part of the United States ; the Norse- 
men had discovered Minneapolis ; and Columbus had 
discovered San Salvador and had gone home to meet 
a ninety-day note due in Palos for the use of the 
Finta, which he had hired by the hour. 

But we aie speaking of the discovery of New 
York. 

About this time a solitary horseman might have 
been seen at West 209th Street, clothed in a little 
brief authority, and looking out to the west as he 
petulantly spoke in the Tammany dialect, then in the 
language of the blank-verse Indian. He began : 
" Another day of anxiety has passed, and yet we 
have not been discovered ! The Great Spirit tells me 
in the thunder of the surf and the roaring cataract of 
the Harlem that within a week we will be discovered 
for the first time." 

As he stands there aboard of his horse one sees 
that he is a chief in every respect, and in life's great 
drama would naturally occupy the middle of the 
stage. It was at this moment that Hudson slipped 
down the river from Albany past Fort Lee, and, 
dropping a nickle in the slot at 125th Street, weighed 



his anchor at that place. As soon as he had landed 
and discovered the city, he was approached by the 
chief, who said : " We gates. I am on the com- 
mittee to show you our little town. I suppose you 
have a power of attorney, of course, for discovering 
us?" 

" Yes," said Hudson. " As Columbus used to say . 
when he discovered San Salvador, ' I do it by the 
right vested in me by my sovereigns.' ' That over- 
sizes my pile by a sovereign and a half,' says one of 
the natives ; and so, if you have not heard it, there 
is a good thing for one of your dinner-speeches 
here." 

" Very good," said the chief, as they jogged down- 
town on a swift Sixth Avenue elevated train towards 
the wigwams on 14th Street, and going at the rate of 
four miles an hour. " We do not care especially who 
discovers us so long as we hold control of the city 
organization. How about that. Hank ? " 

" That will be satisfactory," said I\Ir. Hudson, 
taking a package of imported cheese and eating it, so 
that they could have the car to themselves. 

" We will take the departments, such as Police, 
Street-cleaning, etc., etc., etc., while you and Columbus 
get your pictures on the currency and have your 
graves mussed up on anniversaries. We get the two- 
moment horses and the country chateaux on the 
Bronx. Sabe?" 

" That is, you do not care whose portrait is on the 
currency," said Hudson, " so you get the currency." 
Said the man, "That is the sense of the meeting." 
Thus was New York discovered via Albany and 
Fort Lee, and five minutes after the two touched 
o-lasses, the brim of the schoppin and the Manhattan 
cocktail tinkled together, and New York was in 
au£;urated. 



gA ' . Sfc<> 





JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 1 

(" UNCLE REMUS.") 

OEL CHANDLER HARRIS has called himself "an accidental 
author," for while living on a plantation as a typesetter on a country- 
newspaper he became familiar with the curious myths and animal 
stories of the negroes, and some time in the seventies he printed a 
magazine article on these folk-lore stories, giving at the same time 
some of the stories as illustration. 

This article attracted attention and revealed to the writer the fact that the stories 
had a decided literary value, and his main literary work has been the elaboration of 
these myths. 

The stories of " Uncle Remus " are, as almost everyone knows, not creations of 
the author's fancy, but they are genuine folk-lore tales of the negroes, and strangely 
enough many of these stories are found in varying forms among the American 
Indians, among the Indians along the Amazon and in Brazil, and they are even 
found in India and Siam, which fact has called out learned discussions of the origin 
and antiquity of the stories and tlie possible connection of the races. 

Our author was born in Eatonton, a little village in Georgia, December 9, 1848,. 
in very humble circumstances. He was remarkably impressed, while still very 
young, with the " Vicar of Wakefield," and he straightway began to compose little 
tales of his own. 

In 1862 he went to the oifice of the " Countryman," a rural weekly paper in 
Georgia, to learn> typesetting. It was edited and published on a large plantation, 
and the negroes of this and the adjoining plantations furnished him with the material 
out of which the " Uncle Remus " stories came. 

While learning to set type the young apprentice occasionally tried his hand at 
composing, and not infrequently he slipped into the " Countryman " a little article, 
composed and printed, without ever having been put in manuscript form. 

The publication of an article on the folk-lore of the negroes in " Lippincott's 
Magazine " was the beginning of his literary career, and the interest this awakened 
stimulated him to develop these curious animal stories. 

Many of the stories were first printed as articles in the Atlanta " Constitution," 
and it was soon seen by students of myth-literature that these stories were very sig- 
nificant and important in their bearing on general mythology. 

For the child they have a charm and an interest as " good stories," and they are 
told with rare skill and power, but for the student of ethnology they have special 

435 




43'^ 



JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 



value as throwing some light on the probable relation of the negroes with other races 
which tell similar folk-tales. 

Mr. Harris has studied and pursued the profession of law, though he has now for 
many years been one of the editors of the Atlanta " Constitution," for which many 
of his contributions have been originally written. 

He is also a frequent contributor both of prose and poetry to current literature, 
and he is the author of the following books : " Uncle Remus, His Songs and His 
Sayings; the Folk-lore of the Old Plantation " (New York, 1880), " Nights With 
Uncle Remus" (Boston, 1883), "Mingo and Other Sketches" (1883). 



MR. RABBIT, MR. FOX, AND MR. BUZZARD.* 

(from " UNCLE REMUS.") 




NE evening when the Uttle boy whose nights 
with Uncle Remus are as entertaining 
as those Arabian ones of blessed memory, 
had finished supper and hurried out to sit with his 
venerable patron, he found the old man in great 
glee. Indeed, Uncle Remus was talking and laugh- 
ing to himself at such a rate that the little boy was 
afraid he had company. The truth is, Uncle Remus 
had heard the child coming, and when the rosy- 
cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was en- 
gaged in a monologue, the burden of which seemed to 

" Ole Molly Har', 
\V at you doin' dar, 
Settin' in de cornder 
Smokin' yo' seegyar ? " 

As a matter of course this vague allusion reminded 
the little boy of the fact that the wicked Fox was 
gtiU in pursuit of the Rabbit, and he immediately put 
his curiosity in the shape of a question. 

" Uncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean 
away when he got loose from the Tar-Baby ? " 

" Bless grashus, honey, dat he didn't. Who ? 
Him ? You dunno nuthin' 'tall 'bout Brer Rabbit 
ef dat's de way you puttin' 'im down. Wat he 
gwine 'way fer? He mouter stayed sorter close 
twel the pitch rub oflf'n his ha'r, but twem't menny 
days 'fo' he wuz loping up en down de naberhood 
same as ever, en I dunno ef he wern't mo' sassier 
dan befo'. 

" Seem like dat de tale 'bout how he got mixt up 
wid de Tar-Baby got 'roun' mongst de nabers. 



Leas" ways. Miss Meadows en de girls got win' un' it, 
en de nex' time Brer Rabbit paid um a visit. Miss 
Meadows tackled 'im 'bout it, en de gals sot up a 
monstus gigglement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez 
cool ez a cowcumber, be did, en let 'em run on." 

"Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus?" in- 
quired the little boy. 

" Don't as me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss 
Meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale I give you like 
hi't wer' gun ter me. Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he 
did, sorter lam' like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, 
he did, and wink his eye slow, en up en say, sezee: 

" 'Ladies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy's ridin'-hoss 
for thirty year ; maybe mo', but thirty year dat I 
knows un,' sezee ; en den he paid um his specks, en 
tip his beaver, en march oflF, he did, dez ez stiff en 
ez stuck up ez a fire-stick. 

'• Nex' day, Brer Fox cum a callin', and w en he 
gun fer to laff 'bout Brer Rabt^it, Miss Meadows en 
de gals, dey ups and tells im 'bout w'at Brer Rabbit 
say. Den Brer Fox grit his toof sho' nuff, he did, 
en he look mighty dumpy, but when he riz fer to go 
he up en say, sezee : 

" ' Ladies, I ain't 'sputing w'at you say, but I'll 
make Brer Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out 
right yer whar you kin see 'im,' sezee, en wid dat ofif 
Brer Fox marcht. 

" En w'en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew 
off'n his tail, en made a straight shoot fer Brer 
Rabbit's house. W'en he got dar, Brer Rabbit wuz 
spectin' un him, en de do' wuz shut fas'. Brer Fox 
knock. Nobody ain't ans'er. Brer Fox knock. No» 



* Copyright, George Routledge & Sou. 



JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 



437 



body ans'er. Den he knock agin — blam 1 blam ! 
Den Brer Rabbit holler out, mighty weak : 

" ' Is dat you, Brer Fox ? I want you ter run en 
fetch de doctor. Dat bit er parsley w'at I e't dis 
mawnin' is gittin' 'way wid me. Do, please, Brer 
Fos, run quick,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 

" ' I come alter you, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, 
sezee ' Dere's gwinter be a party up at Miss 
Meadow's,' sezee. ' All de gals'll be dere, en I 
promus' dat Fd fetch you. De gals, dey 'lowed dat 
hit wouldn't be no party 'ceppin I fotch you,' sez 
Brer Fox, sezee. 

" Den Brer Rabbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer 

Fox say he wuzzent. en dar dey had it up and down 

Bputin' en contendin'. Brer Rabbit say he can't 

I walk. Brer Fos say he tote 'im. Brer Rabbit say 

I how? Brer Fos say in his arms. Brer Rabbit say 

, he drap 'im. Brer Fos 'low he won't. Bimeby 

Brer Rabbit say he go ef Brer Fox tote 'im on bis 

back. Brer Fox say he would. Brer Rabbit say he 

can't ride widout a saddle. Brer Fos say be git de 

, saddle. Brer Rabbit say he can't set in saddle less 

: he have a bridle for to hoi' by. Brer Fox say he 

I git de bridle. Brer Rabbit say he can't ride widout 

, bline bridle, kaze Brer Fos be shyin' at stumps 'long 

de road, en fling 'im off. Brer Fox say he git bline 

bridle. Den Brer Rabbit say he go. Den Brer Fox 

say he ride Brer Rabbit mos' up to jMiss Meadows's, 

en den he could git down en walk de balance ob de 

, way. Brer Rabbit 'greed, en den Brer Fos lipt out 

Etter de saddle en de bridle. 

Co'se Brer Rabbit know de game dat Brer Fox 

I wuz fixin' fer ter play, en he 'termin' fer ter out-do 

, 'im ; en by de time he koam his h'ar en twis' his 

mustarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox, saddle 

. and bridle on, en lookin' ez peart ez a circus pony. 

He trot up ter de do' en stan' dar pawin' de ground 

en chompin' de bit same like slio' nuflF bos, en Brei 

Habbit he mount, he did, en day amble off. Brer 

Fox can't see behime wid de bline bridle on, but 

bimeby he feel Brer Rabbit raise one c-r his foots. 

" ' Wat you doin' now. Brer Rabbit ? ' sezee. 
I " 'Short ain' de lef stir'p, Brer Fox,' sezee. 
" Bimeby Brer Rabbit raise de udder foot. 
"' Wat you doin' now, Brer Rabbit?' sezee. 
" ' PuUin' down my pants. Brer Fox,' sezee. 

"All de time, bless grashus, honey, Brer Rabbit 



was puttin' on his spurrers, en w'en dey got close to 
Miss Meadows s, whar Brer Rabbit wuz to git oflP en 
Brer Fox made a motion fer ter stan' still, Brer 
Rabbit slap the spurrers inter Brer Fox flanks, en 
you better blieve he got over groun'. Wen dey 
got ter de house, Miss Meadows en all de girls wua 
settin' on de peazzer, en stidder stoppin' at de gate 
Brer Rabbit rid on by, he did, en den come gallopin 
down de road en up ter de boss-rack, w'ich he hitch 
Brer Fox at, en den he santer inter de house, he did, 
en shake ban's wid de gals, en set dar, smokin' his 
seegyar same ez a town man. Bimeby he draw in 
long puff, en den let hit out in a cloud, en squar his- 
se'f back, en holler out, he did : 

" ' Ladies, ain't I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de 
ridin' boss fer our fambly ? He sorter losin' his gait 
now, but I speck I kin fetch 'im all right in a mont' 
or so,' sezee. 

" En den Brer Rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de 
gals giggle, en Jliss Meadows, she praise up de pony, 
en Jar wuz Brer Fox hitch fas' ter de rack, en 
couldn't he'p hisse'f." 

" Is that all, Uncle Remus ? " asked the Uttle boy, 
as the old man paused. 

'• Dat ain't all, honey, but 'twont do fer to give 
out too much cloflf for ter cut one pa'r pants," replied 
the old man sententiously. 

When " Miss Sally's " little boy went to Uncle 
Remus the next night, he found the old man in a 
bad humor. 

" I ain't tellin' no tales ter bad chilluns," said 
Uncle Remus curtly. 

" But, Uncle Remus, T ain't bad," said the Httle 
boy plaintively. 

" Who dat chunkin' dem chickens dis mawnin' ? 
Who dat knockin' out fokes's eyes wid dat Yaller- 
bammer sling des 'fo' dinner ? Who dat siekin' dat 
pinter puppy atter mv pig? Who dat scatterin' my 
ingun sets ? Who dat flingin' rocks on top er my 
house, w'ich a Uttle mo' en one un em would er drap 
spang on, my head ! " 

" Well, now. Uncle Remus, I didn't go to do it. I 
won't do so any more. Please, Uncle Remus, if you 
will tell me, I'll run to the house, and bring you 
some tea-cakes." 

" Seein' urn's better'n hearin' tell un em," replied 
the old man, the severity of his countenance relax- 



438 



JOEL CHANOLER HABBIS. 



ing somewhat ; but the little boy darted out, and in 
a few minutes came running back with his pockets 
full and his hands full. 

" I lay yo' mammy '11 'spishun dat de rats' stum- 
mucks is widenin' in dis naberhood w'en she come 
fer ter count up 'er cakes," said Uncle Remus, with 
a chuckle. \ 

" Lemme see. I mos' dis' member wharbouts Brer 
Fox and Brer Rabbit wuz." 

" The rabbit rode the Fox to Miss Meadows's and 
hitched him to the horse-rack," said the httle boy. 

" W'y co'se he did," said Uncle Remus. " Co'se 
he did. Well, Brer Rabbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, 
en tied 'im to de rack, en den sot out in the peazzer 
wid de gals a smokin' er his seegyar wid mo' proud- 
iiess dan w'at you mos' ever see. Dey talk, en dey 
sing, en dey play on de peanner, de gals did, twel 
bimeby hit come time for Brer Rabbit fer to be gwine, 
en he tell urn all good-by, en strut out to de hoss- 
rack same's ef he was de king er der patter-rollers 
en den he mount Brer Fox en ride off. 

" Brer Fox ain't sayin' nuthin' 'tall. He des rack 
off, he did. en keep his mouf shet, en Brer Rabbit 
know'd der wuz bizness cookin' up fer him. en he feel 
monstous skittish. Brer Fox amble on twel he git in de 
long lane, outer sight er Miss Meadows's house, en 
den he tu'n loose, he did. He rip en he r'ar, en he 
cuss en he swar ; he snort en he cavort." 

" What was he doing that for, Uncle Remus?" 
the little boy inquired. 

" He wuz tryin' fer ter fling Brer Rabbit off'n his 
back, bless yo' soul ! But he des might ez well er 
rastle wid his own shadder. Every time he hump 
hisse'f Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers in 'im, en dai 
dey had it up en down. Brer Fox fa'rly to' up de 
groun', he did, en he jump so high en he jump so 
quick, dat he mighty nigh snatch his own tail off. 
Dey kep' on gwine on dis way twel bimeby Brer Fox 
lay down en roll over, he did, en dis sorter unsettle 
Brer Rabbit, but by de time Brer Fox got en his 
footses agin. Brer Rabbit wuz gwine thoo de under- 
bresh mo' samer dan a racehoss. Brer Fox, he lit 
out atter 'im, he did, en he push Brer Rabbit so 
dose, dat it wuz 'bout all he could do fer ter git in a 
holler tree. Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer to git 
in, en he hatter lay down en res' en gadder his mine 
tergedder. 



" While he wuz layin' dar, Mr. Buzzard com» 
floppin' long, en seein' Brer Fox stretch out on the 
groun', he lit en view the premusses. Den Mr. Buz- 
zard sorter shake his wing, en put his head on one 
side, en say to hisse'f like, sezee ; 

" ' Brer Fox dead, en I so sorry,' sezee. 

" ' No I ain't dead, nudder,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 
' I got ole man Rabbit pent up in yer,' sezee, ' en 
I'm gwineter git 'im dis tune, ef it take twel Chris'- 
mus,' sezee. 

" Den, atter some mo' palaver. Brer Fox make a 
bargain dat Mr. Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en 
keep Brer Rabbit dar wiles Brer Fox went atter his 
axe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr. 
Buzzard, he tuck up his stan' at dehole. Bimeby, 
w'en all get still. Brer Rabbit sorter scramble down 
close ter de hole, he did, en holler out: 

' " ' Brer Fox ! Oh ! Brer Fox ! ' 

" Brer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin.' 
Den Brer Rabbit squall out like he wuz mad : 

"'You needn't talk less you wanter,' sezee; 'I 
knows youer dar, an I ain't keerin', sezee. ' I dez 
wanter tell you dat I wish mighty bad Brer Tukkey 
Buzzard was here,' sezee. 

" Den Mr. Buzzard try to talk like Brer Fox : 

" ' Wat you want wid Mr. Buzzard ? ' sezee. 

" ' Oh, nuthin' in 'tickler, 'cep' dere's de fattes' 
gray squir'l in yer dat ever I see,' sezee, ' en ef Brer 
Tukkey Buzzard was 'roun' he'd be mighty glad fer 
ter git 'im,' sezee. 

" ' How Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git him ? ' sez de 
Buzzard, sezee. 

" ' Well, dar's a Uttle hole, roun' on de udder side 
er de tree,' .sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ' en ef Brer Tuk- 
key Buzzard was here so he could take up his Stan' 
dar, sezee, ' I'd drive dat S((uir'l out,' sezee. 

" ' Drive 'im out, den,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, 
'en I'll see dat Brer Tukkey Buzzard gits im,' 
sezee. 

" Den Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer' i 
drivin' sumpin' out, en Mr. Buzzard he rush 'roun' 
fer ter ketch de squir'l, en Brer Rabbit, he dash out, 
he did, en he des fly fer home. 

" Well, Mr. Buzzard he feel mighty lonesome, he 
did, but he done prommust Brer Box dat he'd stay^ 
en he termin' fer ter sorter hang 'roun' en jine in de 
joke. En he ain't hatter wait long, nudder, kase 



I 



JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 



439 



bimeby yer come Brer Fox gallopin' thoo de woods 
wid his axe on his shoulder. 

" ' How you speck Brer Rabbit gittin' on, Brer 
Buzzard ? ' sez Brer Fox, sezee. 

'' ' Oh, he in dar,' sez Brer Buzzard, sezee. ' He 
mighty still, dough. I speck he takin' a nap,' sezee. 

" ' Den I'm des in time fer te wake 'im up,' sez 
Brer Fox, sezee. En wid dat he fling off his coat, 
en spit in his ban's, en grab de axe. Den he draw 
back en come down on de tree — pow ! En eve'y 
time he come down wid de axe — pow ! — Mr. Buz- 
zard, he step high, he did, en hollar out : 

" ' Oh, he in dar. Brer Fox. He in dar, sho.' 

" En eve'y time a chip ud fly off, Mr. Buzzard, 
he'd jump, en dodge, en hole his head sideways, he 
would, en holler : 

" ' He in dar. Brer Fox. I done heerd 'im. He 
in dar, sho.' 

" ' En Brer Fox, he lammed away at dat holler 
tree, he did, like a man mauling' rails, twel bimeby 
alter he done got de tree most' cut thoo, he stop fer 
ter ketch his bref, en he seed Mr. Buzzard laiEn' be- 
hind his back, he did, en right den en dar, widout 
gwine enny fudJer, Brer Fox he smelt a rat. But 
Mr. Buzzard, he keep on holler'n : 

" ' He in dar. Brer Fox. He in dar, sho. I done 
seed 'im.' 

" Den Brer Fox, he make like he peepin' up de 
holler, en he say, sezee : 

" ' llun yer. Brer Buzzard, en look ef dis ain't 
Brer Rabbit's foot hanging down yer.' 

" En Mr. Buzzard, he come steppin' up, he did, 
same ez ef he were treddin' on kurkie-burrs, en he 
Stick his head in de hole ; en no sooner did he done 
dat dan Brer Fox grab 'im. Mr. Buzzard flap his 
wings, en scramble roun' right sraartually, he did, 
but 'twan no use. Brer Fox had de 'vantage er de 



grip, he did, en he hilt 'im right down tor de groun'. 
Den Mr. Buzzard squall out, sezee : 

" ' Lemme 'lone, Brer Fox. Tu'n me loose,' sezee; 
' Brer Rabbit'll git out. Youer gitiin' close at 'im,' 
sezee, ' en leb'm mo' licks'll fetch im,' sezee. 

" ' I'm nigher ter you. Brer Buzzard,' sez Brer 
Fox, sezee, ' dan I'll be ter Brer Rabbit dis day,' 
sezee. ' Wat you fool me fer ? ' sezee. 

" ' Lemme 'lone. Brer Fox,' sez Mr. Buzzard, 
sezee ; ' my ole 'oman waitin' for me. Brer Rabbit 
in dar,' sezee, 

" Dar's a bunch er his fur on dat black-be'y bush,' 
sez Brer Fox, sezee, ' en dat ain't de way he come,' 
sezee. 

" Den Mr. Buzzard up'n tell Brer Fox how 'twuz, 
en he low'd, Mr. Buzzard did, dat Brer Rabbit wuz 
de low-downest w'atsizname w'at he ever run up wid. 
Den Brer Fox say, sezee : 

" ' Dat's needer here ner dar, Brer Buzzard,' sezee. 
' I lef ' you yer fer ter watch dish yer hole en I lef ' 
Brer Rabbit in dar. I comes back en I fines you at 
de hole, en Brer Rabbit ain't in dar,' sezee. ' I'm 
gwinter make you pay fer't. I done bin tampered 
wid twel plum down ter de sap sucker'U set on a log 
en sassy me. I'm gwinter fling you in a bresh-heap 
en burn you up,' sezee. 

" ' Ef you fling me on der fier. Brer Fox, I'll fly 
'way,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee. 

" ' Well, den, I'll settle yo' hash right now,' sez 
Brer Fox, sezee, en wid dat he grab Mr. Buzzard by 
de tail, he did, en make fer ter dash 'im 'gin de 
groun', but des 'bout dat time de tail fedders come 
out, en Mr. Buzzard sail off like wunner dese yer 
berloons, en ez he riz, he holler back : 

" ' You gimme good start. Brer Fox,' sezee, en 
Brer Fox sot dai ch watch 'im fly outer sight." 



•4*- 



s^^^-. 



I*!* 1^ 1^, ^1 f^ (■^ (^ r 



i6 



7i\ ^i-. ^i\ ^l>. ^l: --I-. .-!>. .•|-.TT\ .-|>. ^IN /l-._71-.,..-|\,.-|\_.1'.„.1\yl\ 



.'1-. ^l\yl-. 



T/ir 



rc./K 



EiEa^ 



^' 'iii Q U (-J^ ' 



=# 



©=#=^ 



ROBERT J. BURDETTE. 




HE American people have a kindly feeling for the men who make 
them laugh, and in no other country does a humorist have a more 
appreciative public. The result has been, that in a country in which 
tlie average native has a clearly marked vein of humor, the genuine 
" funny man " is always sure of a hearty welcome. We have a long 
list of writers and lecturers who have gained a wide po])ularity 
through their mirth-provoking powers, and " Bob Burdette " holds an honorable 
place in this guild of " funny men." 

He was born in Greensborough, Pennsylvania, July 30, 1844, though he 
removed early in life to Peoria, 111., where he received his education in the public 
schools. 

He enlisted in the Civil War and served as a private from 1862 to the end of 
the war. 

He began his journalistic career on the Peoria " Transcript," and, after periods of 
editorial connection with other local newspapers, he became associate editor of the 
Burlington " Hawkeye," Iowa. His humorous contributions to this journal were 
widely copied and they gave him a general reputation. His reputation as a writer 
had prepared the way for his success as a lecturer, and in 1877 he entered the lec- 
ture field, in which he has been eminently successful. He has lectured in nearly all 
the cities of the United States, and he never fails to amuse his listeners. 

He is a lay preacher of the Baptist Church, and it is often a surprise to those 
who have heard only his humorous sayings to hear him speak with earnestness and 
serious persuasiveness of the deeper things of life, for he is a man of deep exper- 
iences and of pure ideals. 

His most popular lectures have been those on "The Rise- and Fall of the ]\Ius- 
tache," " Home," and " The Pilgrimage of the Funny Man." He has published 
in book-form, "The Rise and Fall of the Mustache and Other Hawkeyetems" 
(Burlington, 1877), " Hawkeyes " (1880), "Life of William Penn " (New York, 
1882), a volume in the series of " Comic Biographies ; " and " Innacli Garden and 
other Comic Sketches" (1886). 

He has been a frequent contributor to the Ladies' Home Journal and other cur- 
rent literature, and he has recently written a convulsive description of "Howl 
Learned to Ride the Bicycle," which appeared in the Wheelmen. 

He has for some years made his home at Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, and be 
enjoys a large circle of friends. 
440 



ROBERT J. BURDETTE. 



441 



THE MOVEMENT 




JNE day, not a great while ago, Mr. Mid- 
dlerib read in his favorite paper a para- 
graph copied from the Prxger Land- 
wirthscha/tliches Wochenhlatt, a German paper, which 
is an accepted authority on such points, stating that 
the sting of a bee was a sure cure for rheumatism, 
and citing several remarkable instances in which peo- 
had been perfectly cured by this abrupt remedy. 
Mr. Middlerib did not stop to reflect that a paper 
with such a name as that would be very apt to say 
anything ; he only thought of the rheumatic twinges 
that grappled his knees once in a while, and made 
life a burden to him. 

He read the article several times, and pondered 
over it. He understood that the stinging must be 
done scientifically and thoroughly. The bee, as he 
understood the article, was to be gripped by the ears 
and set down upon the rheumatic joint, and held 
there until it stung itself stingless. He had some 
misgivings about the matter. He knew it would 
hurt. He hardly thought it could hurt any worse 
than the rheumatism, and it had been r i many years 
since he was stung by a bee that he had almost for- 
gotten what it felt like. He had, however, a general 
feeling that it would hurt some. But desperate 
diseases required desperate remedies, and Mr. Mid- 
dlerib was willing to undergo any amount of suffer- 
ing if it would cure his rheumatism. 

He contracted with Master Middlerib for a limited 
Bupply of bees. There were bees and bees, hum- 
ming and buzzing about in the summer air, but Mr. 
Middlerib did not know how to get them. He felt, 
however, that he could depend upon the instincts and 
methods of boyhood. He knew that if there was 
any way in heaven or earth whereby the shyest bee 
that ever lifted a 200-pound man off the clover, 
could be induced to enter a wide-mouthed glass 
bottle, his son knew that way. 

For the small sum of one dime Master Middlerib 
agreed to procure several, to-wit : six bees, age not 
specified ; but as Mr. Middlerib was left in uncer- 
tainty as to the race, it was made obligatory upon the 
contractor to have three of them honey, and three 
humble, or in the generally accepted vernacular, 
bumble bees. Mr. jVIiddlerib did not tell his son 
what he wanted those bees for, and the boy went off 



CURE FOR RHEUMATISM.* 

on his mission, with his head so full of astonisliment 
that it fairly whirled. Evening brings all home, and 
the last rays of the declining sun fell upon Master 
Middlerib with a short, wide-mouthed bottle com- 
fortably populated with hot, ill-natured bees, and 
Mr. Middlerib and a dime. The dime and the bottle 
changed hands and the boy was happy. 

Mr. Middlerib put the bottle in his coat pocket 
and went into the house, eyeing everybody he met 
very suspiciously, as though he had made up his 
mind to sting to death the first person that said 
" bee " to him. He confided his guilty secret to none 
of his family. He hid his bees in his bedroom, and 
as he looked at them just before putting them away, 
he half wished the experiment was safely over. He 
wished the imprisoned bees didn't look so hot and 
cross. With exquisite care he submerged the bottle 
in a basin of water, and let a few drops in on the 
heated inmates, to cool them off. 

At the tea-table he had a great fight. Miss Mid- 
dlerib, in the artless simplicity of her romantic nature 
said : "I smell bees. How the odor brings up " 



But her father glared at her, and said, with super- 
fluous harshness and execrable grammar : 

" Hush up ! You don't smell nothing." 

Whereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him if he had 
eaten anything that disagreed with him, and Miss 
Middlerib said : " Why, pa ! " and Master Middlerib 
smiled as he wondered. 

Bedtime came at last, and the night was warm 
and sultry. Under various false pretences, Mr. Jlid- 
dlerib strolled about the house until everybody else 
was in bed, and then he sought his room. He turned 
the night-lamp down until its feeble rays shone 
dimly as a death-light. 

Mr. Middlerib disrobed slowly — very slowly. When 
at last he was ready to go lumbering into his peace- 
ful couch, he heaved a profound sigh, so full of ap- 
prehension and grief that Mrs. IMiddlerib, who was 
awakened by it, said if it gave him so much pain to 
come to bed, perhaps he had better sit up all night. 
Mr. Middlerib checked another sigh, but said notning 
and crept into bed. After lying still a few moments 
he reached out and got his bottle of bees. 

It is not an easy thing to do, to pick one bee out 
of a bottle full, with his fingers, and not get into 



* CopyrigLt, R. J. Burdette. 



442 



ROBERT J. BTTRDETTE. 



trouble. The first bee Mr. Middlerib got was a little 
brown honey-bee that wouldn't weigh half an ounce 
if you picked him up by the ears, but if you lifted 
him by the hind leg as Mr. Middlerib did, would 
weigh as much as the last end of a bay mule. Mr. 
Middlerib could not repress a groan. 

"What's the matter with you?" sleepily asked 
his wife. 

It was very hard for Mr. Middlerib to say ; he 
only knew his temperature had risen to 8G all over, 
and to 197 on the end of his thumb. He reversed 
the bee and pressed the warlike terminus of it firmly 
against his rheumatic knee. 

It didn't hurt so badly as he thought it would. 

It didn't hurt at all ! 

Then Mr. Middlerib remembered that when the 
honey-bee stabs a human foe it generally leaves its 
harpoon in the wound, and the invalid knew then the 
only thing the bee had to sting with was doing its 
work at the etid of his thumb. 

He reached his arm out from under the sheet, and 
dropped this disabled atom of rheumatism liniment 
on the carpet. Then, after a second of blank wonder, 
he began to feel around for the bottle, and wished he 
knew what he had done with it. 

In the meantime, strange things had been going 
on. When he caught hold of the first bee, Mr. 
Middlerib, for reasons, drew it out in such haste that 
for the time he forgot all about the bottle and its 
remedial contents, and left it lying uncorked in the 
bed. In the darkness there had been a quiet but 
general emigration from that bottle. The bees, their 
wings clogged with the water Mr. Middlerib had 
poured upon them to cool and tranquilize them, were 
crawling aimlessly about over the sheet. While Mr. 
IMiddlerib was feeling around for it, his ears were 
suddenly thrilled and his heart frozen by a wild, 
piercing scream from his wife. 

" Murder ! " she screamed, " murder ! Oh, help 
me 1 Help ! help ! " 

Mr. Middlerib sat bold upright in bed. His hair 
stood on end. The night was very warm, but he 
turned to ice in a minute. 



" Where, oh, where," he said, with pallid lips, is 
he felt all over the bed in frenzied haste — " where in 
the world are those infernal bees ? " 

And a large " bumble," with a sting as pitiless as 
the finger of scorn, just then hghted between Mr. 
Middlerib's shoulders, and went for his marrow, and 
said calmly : "Here is one of them." 

And Mrs. Middlerib felt ashamed of her feeble 
screams when Mr. Middlerib threw up both arms, 
and, with a howl that made the windows rattle, 
roared ; 

" Take him ofi"! Oh, land of Scott, somebody take 
him oflF! " 

And when a little honey-bee began tickling the 
sole of JMrs. Middlerib's foot, she shrieked that the 
house was bewitched, and immediately went into 
spasms. 

The household was aroused by this time. Miss 
Middlerib, and Master Middlerib and the servants 
were pouring into the room, adding to the general 
confusion, by howling at random and asking irrelevant 
questions, while they gazed at the figure of a man, 
a little on in years, pawing fiercely at the unattain- 
able spot in the middle of his back, while he danced 
an unnatural, weird, wicked-looking jig by the dim 
religious light of the night lamp. 

And while he danced and howled, and while they 
gazed and shouted, a navy-blue wasp, that Master 
■Middlerib had put in the bottle for good measure and 
variety, and to keep the menagerie stirred up, had 
dried his legs and wings with a comer of tbe sheet, 
after a preliminary circle or two around the bed, to 
get up bis motion and settle down to a working gait, 
fired himself across the room, and to his dying day 
Mr. Middlerib will always believe that one of the 
servants mistook him for a burglar, and shot him. 

No one, not even Mr. Middlerib himself, could 
doubt that he was, at least for the time, most thor- 
oughly cured of rheumatism. His own boy could 
not have carried himself more lightly or with greater 
agility. But the cure was not permanent, and Mr, 
Middlerib does not hke to talk about it. 




LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 



AUTHOR OF LITTLE WOMEN. 




HE famous author of "Little Women," "Little Men," and "Old- 
Fasliioned Girls," made her beginning, as have many who have done 
any good or acquired fame in the world, by depending on herself. In 
other words, she was the architect of her own fortune, and has left be- 
hind herworks that will endure to gladden the heartsof millionsof boys 
and girls. But she has done more. She has left behind her a record 
of a life within itself, a benediction and inspiration to every thoughtful girl who reads it. 
While Miss Alcott always considered New England her home, she was actually 
born in Germantown, Philadelphia, November 29, 1832. Her father, Amos Bron- 
son Alcott, after his marriage in New England, accepted a position as principal of a 
Germantown Academy, which he occupied from 1831 to 1834, and afterwards taught 
a children's school at his own residence, but he was unsuccessful and he returned to 
Boston in 1835, when Louisa was two years old. 

From this time forward, Mr. Alcott was a close friend and associate of the poet 
and philosopher Emerson, sharing with him his transcendental doctrines, and join- 
ing in the Brook-Farm experiment of ideal communism at Roxbury, Mass. The 
Brook-Farm experiment brought Mr. Alcott to utter financial ruin, and after its 
failure he removed to Concord, where he continued to live until his death. It was 
at this time that Louisa, although a mere child, formed a noble and unselfish pur- 
pose to retrieve the family fortune. When only fifteen years of age, she turned her 
thoughts to teaching, her first school being in a barn and attended by the child- 
len of Mr. Emerson and other neighbors. Almost at the same time she began to 
compose fairy stories, which were contributed to papers ; but these early productions 
brought her little if any compensation, and she continued to devote herself to teach- 
ing, receiving her own education privately from her father. " When I was twenty- 
one years of age," she wrote many years later to a friend, " I took my little earnings 
($20) and a few clothes, and went out to seek ray fortune, though I might have sat still 
and been supported by rich friends. All those hard years were teaching me what I 
afterwards put into books, and so I made my fortune out of my seeming misfortune." 
Two years after this brave start Miss Alcott's earliest book, " Fairy Tales," was 
published (1855). About the same time her work began to be accepted by the 
" Atlantic Monthly " and other magazines of reputation. During the winters of 
1862 and '63 she volunteered her services and went to Washington and served as a 
nurse in the government hospitals, and her experiences here were embodied in a 

443 



444 LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 

series of graphic letters to her mother and sisters. These letters she revised and 
had printed in tlie " Boston Commonwealth " in the summer of 1863. They were 
afterwards issued in a volume entitled " Hospital Sketches and Camp-Fire Stories." 
This was her second book, which, together with her magazine articles, oj^ened the 
way to a splendid career as an author. 

Being naturally fond of young people, Miss Alcott turned her attention from this 
time forward to writing for them. Her distinctive books for the young are entitled 
"Moods" (1864); "Morning Glories" (1867); "Little Women" (1868), which 
washer first decided success; " An Old-Fashioned Girl" (1869); "Little Men" 
(1871); "Work" (1873); "Eight Cousins" (1875), and its sequel, "Eose in 
Bloom " (1877), which perhaps ranks first among her books ; " Under the Lilacs" 
(1878) ; " Jack and Jill " (1880), and " Lulu's Library " (1885). Besides these she 
has put forth, at different times, several volumes of short stories, among which are 
"Cupid and Chow-Chow," "Silver Pitchers" and "Aunt Joe's Scrap-bag." 

From childhood Miss Alcott was under the tutelage of the Emersonian school, 
and was not less than her father an admirer of the "Seer of Concord." "Those 
Concord days," she writes, "were among the happiest of my life, for we had the 
charming playmates in the little Emersons, Channings, and Hawthornes, with their 
illustrious parents, to enjoy our pranks and join our excursions." 

In speaking of Emerson she also wrote to a young woman a few years before 
her death: "Theodore Parker and Ralph Waldo Emerson have done much to 
help me see that one can shape life best by trying to build up a strong and noble 
character, 'through good books, wise people's society, and by taking an interest in 
all reforms that help the world, . . . believing always that a loving and just Father 
cares for us, sees our weakness, and is near to help if we call." Continuing she 
asks: "Have you read Emerson? He is called a Pantheist, or believer in nature, 
instead of God. He was truly a Christian and saw God in nature, finding strength 
and comfort in the same sweet influence of the great Mother as well as the great 
Father of all. I, too, believe this, and when tired, sad or tempted, find my best 
comfort in the woods, the sky, the healing solitude that lets my poor, weary soul 
find the rest, the fresh hopes, the patience which only God can give us." 

The chief aim of Miss Alcott seemed to have been to make others happy. Many 
are the letters treasured up by young authors who often, but never in vain, sought 
her advice and kind assistance. To one young woman who asked her opinion on 
certain new books, in 1884, she wrote: "About books; yes, I've read 'Mr. Isaacs' 
and 'Dr. Claudius,'* and like them both. The other, "To Leeward," is not so 
good; 'Little Pilgrim' was pretty, but why try to paint heaven ? Let it alone and 
prepare for it, whatever it is, sure that God knows what we need and deserve. I 
will send you Emerson's 'Essays.' Read those marked. I hope they will be as 
helpful to you as they have been to me and many others. They will bear study 
and I think are what you need to feed upon now." The marked essays were those 
on "Compensation," "Love," "Friendship," "Heroism," and "Self-Reliance." 

Miss Alcott's kindness for young jieople grew with her advancing years. Being 
a maiden lady without daughters of her own, she was looked up to and delighted 
in being considered as a foster-mother to aspiring girls all over the land. How 

* These are the books that made F. Marion Crawford famous. 



LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 



445 



many times she wrote similar sentences to this: "Write freely to me, dear girl, and 
if I can help you in any way be sure I will." This was written to one she liad 
never seen and only four years before her death, when she was far from well. 

Miss Alcott died in Boston, March 6, 1888, at the age of fifty-six years, and just 
two days after her aged father, who was eighty-five years old, and who had 
depended on her many years, passed away. Though a great advocate of work for 
the health, sJie was, no doubt, a victim of overwork ; for it is said she frequently 
devoted from twelve to fifteen hours a day to her literary labors, . . . besides looking 
after her business affairs and caring j^ersonally for her old father, for many years 
an invalid. In addition to this, she educated some of her poor relatives, and still 
further took the place of a mother to little Lulu, the daughter of her sister, May, 
who died when the child was an infant. 



HOW JO MADE FRIENDS.* 




HAT boy is suffering for society and fun," 
she said to herself. •■ His grandpa don't 
know what's good for him, and keeps him 
shut up all alone. He needs a lot of jolly boys to 
play with, or somebody young and lively. I've a 
great mind to go over and tell the old gentleman so." 

The idea amused Jo, who liked to do daring things, 
and was always scandalizing Jleg by her queer per- 
formances. The plan of " going over " was not for- 
gotten ; and, when the snowy afternoon came, Jo 
resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. 
Laurence drive off, and then sailed out to dig her way 
down to the hedge, where she paused and took a sur- 
vey. All quiet ; curtains down to the lower win- 
dows ; servants out of sight, and nothing human 
visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand, 
at the upper window. 

" There he is," thought Jo ; " poor boy, all alone, 
and sick, this dismal day ! It's a shame ! I'll toss 
up a snowball, and make him look out, and then say 
a kind word to him." 

Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head 
turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless 
look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened, and the 
mouth began to smile. Jo nodded, and laughed, 
and flourished her broom, as she called out, — 

" How do you do ? Are you sick ?" 

Laurie opened the window and croaked out as 
iioanelj as a raven, — 



(from " LITTLE WOMEN.") 

" Better, thank you. I've had a horrid cold, and 
have been shut up a week." 

■' I'm sorry. What do you amuse yourself with ?" 

" Nothing ; it's as dull as tombs up here." 

" Don't you read '?" 

" Not much ; they won't let me." 

'■ Can't somebody read to you?" 

'■ Grandpa does, sometimes ; but my books don't in- 
terest him, and I hate to ask Brooke all the time." 

'■ Have some one come and see you, then." 

" There isn't any one I'd like to see. Boys make 
such a row, and my head is weak." 

" Isn't there some nice girl who'd read and amuse 
you ? Girls are quiet, and like to play nurse." 

" Don't know any." 

" You know me," began Jo, then laughed and 
stopped. 

" So I do ! Will you come, please ?" fried Laurie. 

" I'm not quiet and nice ; but I'll come, if mother 
will let me. I'll go ask her. Shut that window, 
Uke a good boy, and wait till I come 

'■ Oh ! that does me lots of good ; tell on, please," 
he said, taking his face out of the sofa-cushion, red 
and shining with merriment. 

Much elevated with her success, Jo did " tell on," 
all about their plays and plans, their hopes and fears 
for father, and the most interesting events of the 
little world in which the sisters lived. Then they got 
to talking about books ; and to Jo's delight she found 



•Copyright, Roberta Bros. 



446 



LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. 



that Laurie loved them as well as she did, and had 
read even more than herself. 

" If you like them so much, come down and see ours. 
Grandpa is out, so you needn't be afraid," said Laurie, 
getting up. 

•' I'm not afraid of anything," returned Jo, with a 
toss of the head. 

" I don t beheve you are !" exclaimed the boy, 
looking at her with much admiration, though he 
privately thought she would have good reason to be a 
trifle afraid of the old gentleman, if she met him in 
some of his moods. 

The atmosphere of the whole house being summer- 
like, Laurie led the way from room to fBom, letting 
Jo stop to examine whatever struck her fancy ; and 
so at last they came to the library, where she clapped 
her hands, and pranced, as she always did when 
specially delighted. It was lined with books, and 
there were pictures and statues, and distracting little 
cabinets full of coins and curiosities, and Sleep-Hol- 
low chairs, and queer tables, and bronzes ; and, best 
of all, a great, open fireplace, with quaint tiles all 
round it. 

" What richness !" sighed Jo, sinking into the 
depths of a velvet chair, and gazing about her with 
an air of intense satisfaction. " Theodore Laurence, 
you ought to be the happiest boy in the world," she 
added impressively. 

" A fellow can't live on books," said Laurie, shak- 
ing his head, as he perched on a table opposite. 

Before he could say any more, a bell rang, and Jo 



flew up, exclaiming with alarm, " Jlercy me I it's your 
grandpa !" 

" Well, what if it is? You are not afraid of any- 
thing, you know," returned the boy, looking wicked. 

" I think I am a little bit afraid of him, but I 
don't know why I should be. Marmee said I might 
come, and I don't think you are any the worse for 
it," said Jo, composing herself, though she kept her 
eyes on the door. 

'' I'm a great deal better for it, and ever so much 
obliged. I'm afraid j"ou are very tired talking to me ; 
it was so pleasant, I couldn't bear tostop," said Laurie 
gratefully. 

" The doctor to see you, sir," and the maid beckoned 
as she spoke. j 

" Would you mind if I left you for a minute ? 1 1 
suppose I must see him," said Laurie. 

" Don't mind me. I'm as happy as a cricket 
here," answered Jo. 

Laurie went away, and his guest amused herself in 
her own way. She was standing before a fine por- . 
trait of the old gentleman, when the door opened' 
again, and, without turning, she said decidedly, " I'm 
sure now that I shouldn't be afraid of him, for he's 
got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks 
as if he had a tremendous will of his own. He isn't 
as handsome as my grandfather, but I like him." 

" Thank you, ma'am," said a gruff voice behind 
her ; and there, to her great dismay, stood old Mr. 
Laurence. 



^w^ 



iiiiiiiiililliMMimiiiMwiiiiiiiiiiiiMi i iiiimmiiiiiiniiiHiiiin n iiiitin fwiHinniii i iiiiiii iiim 



I IIHIII IIMIIII HimfHf e 

^ .^ ,- ^=.■ * i^'H = 



.■t\ .•i\ ,-i\ .•!•. .-1-. .-i'. .■i-...-l-.,-1'. .-•!■.. -•l'...-l-.,-r..,.r-...-r._.T'-,-1 -..■■l--, 






.-i-,.-i\.:iN 



.'i\ ^i\ -'r. .-r.^-'i •....' I'. 



Ill IH in in HI NiiMim luilliliillillinilMlliriiiinii 



•''"■. 



llllllllllllllllllll 



1\ ^1-- 



:pi-. 



(M= 



-^=^=^jm3= 



WILLIAI^I TAYLOR ADMIS. 



THE WELL-BELOVED WRITER FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 




PROBABLY no literary man in America has ministered to the pleasure 

of a greater number of our young people than William Taylor 

Adams, who is a native of Massa^ husetts and was born in Medway 

in 1822. He has devoted his life to young people ; for more than 

twenty years as a teacher in the public schools of Boston, for many 

years a member of the school board of Dorchester, and since 1850 

' as a writer of stories. In his earlier life, he was the editor of a periodical known as 

' " The Student and Schoolmate." In 1881 he began the publication of " Our Little 

^ Ones," and later " Oliver Optic's Magazine for Boys and Girls." His first book 

was published in 1853 ; it was entitled " Hatchie, the Guardian Slave," and had a 

large sale. It was followed by a collection of stories called " In Doors and Out," 

and in 1862 Avas completed " The Riverdale Series " of six volumes of stories for 

boys. Some of his other books are " The Boat Club ;" " Woodville ;" " Young 

America Abroad ;" " Starry Flag ;" " Onward and Upward ; " " Yacht Club; " and 

" Great Western." In all he has written at least a thousand stories for newspapers, 

and published about a hundred volumes. Among these are two novels for older 

readers : " The Way of the World " and " Living' Too Fast." 

Mr. Adams' style is both pleasing and simple. His stories are frequently based 
upon scenes of history and their influence is always for good. 



THE SLOOP THAT WENT TO THE BOTTOM* 

(prom " SNUG HARBOR," 1883.) 



TARBOARD your helm! hard a-starhoard !" 
shouted Dory Dornwood, as he put the 
helm of the " Goldwing " to port in order 
to avoid a collision with a steam launch which lay dead 
ahead of the schooner. 

" Keep off! you will sink me ! " cried a young man 
m a sloop-boat, which lay exactly in the course of the 
steam launch. " That's just what I mean to do, if 
you don't come about," yelled a man at the wheel of 



the steamer. " Why didn't you stop when I called 
to you ?" 

" Keep off. or you will be into me ! " screamed the 
skipper of the sloop, whose tones and manner indicated 
that he was very much terrified at the situation. 

And he had reason enough to be alarmed. It was 
plain, from his management of his boat, that he was 
but an indifferent boatman ; and probably he did not 
know what to do in the emergency. Dory had noticed 



• Copyright, Lee i Shepard. 



447 



448 



WILLIAM TAYLOR ADAMS. 



the sloop coming up the lake with the steam launch 
astern of her. The latter had run ahead of the sloop, 
and had cume about, it now appeared, for the purpose 
of intercepting her. 

When thfe skipper of the sloop realized the inten- 
tion of the helmsman of the steamer, he put his helm 
to port ; but he was tuo late. The sharp bow of the 
launch struck the frail craft amidships, and cut 
through her as though she had been made of card- 
board. 

The sloop filled instantly, and, a moment later, the 
young man in her was struggling on the surface of the 
water. The boat was heavily ballasted, and she went 
down like a lump of lead. It was soon clear to Dory 
that the skipper could not swim, for he screamed as 
though the end of all things had come. 

Very likely it would have been the end of all things 
to him, if Dory had not come about with the " Gold, 
wing," and stood over the place where the young man 
was vainly beating the water with his feet and hands. 
With no great difficulty the skipper of the " Gold- 
wing," who was an aquatic bird of the first water^ 
pulled in the victim of the catastrophe, in spite of the 
apparent efibrts of the sufierer to prevent him from 
doing so. 

" You had a narrow squeak that time," said Dory 
Dornwood, as soon as he thought the victim of the 
disaster was in condition to do a Utile talking. " It 
is lucky you didn't get tangled up in the rigging of 



your boat. She went to the bottom like a pound of 
carpet-tacks ; and she would have carried you down in 
a hurry if you hadn't let go in short metre." 

" I think I am remarkably fortunate in being 
among the living at this moment," replied the stranger, 
looking out over the stern of the " Goldwing." "That 
was the most atrocious thing a fellow ever did." 

" What was? " inquired Dory, who was not quite 
sure what the victim meant by the remark, or whether 
he alluded to him or to the man in the steam launch. 

" Why, running into me like that," protested the 
passenger, with no little indignation in his tones. 

" I suppose you came up from Burlington?" said 
Dory, suggestively, as though he considered an ex- 
planation on the part of the stranger to be in order at 
the present time. 

'' I have just come from Burlington," answered the 
victim, who appeared to be disposed to say nothing 
more. " Do you suppose I can get that boat again?" 

" I should say that the chance of getting her again 
was not first-rate. She went down where the water 
is about two hundred and fifty feet deep ; and it won't 
be an easy thing to get hold of her," replied Dory. 
" If you had let him run into you between Diamond 
Island and Porter's Bay, where the water is not more 
than fifty or sixty feet deep, you could have raised her 
without much difficulty. I don't believe you will ever 
see her again." 



-®"(aJ» 



mi ll llll|HI | I II MIM I IUH»l l " I MI II' I I I II IM I W II |M|] ll|lini»IMI|[|»nWHIIIMIIMMMII|IIUIIIIIIIIIII|l|lll|IU>'' 

/*4 ^ ,»♦<-.♦♦«.♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦,♦ ^ 

,^iii1i<iiimiiiiiriii»iiiiniiiiii iiiii iiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiLM i i ii ii i i iii ii i iii iii m i m i i iiiii i i min i i ii i L. 




HORATIO ALGER. 

S a writer of books at once entertaining and at the same time of a 
healthy and earnest character a parent cannot recommend to his boys 

Alger 



a more wholesome author than Horatio Alger, Jr. Mr, 



always writes with a careful regard to truth and to the right princi- 
ples. His heroes captivate the imagination, but they do not inflame 
it, and they are generally worthy examples for the emulation of boys. 
At the same time he is in no sense a preacher. His books have the true juvenile 
i flavor and charm, and, like the sugar pills of the homoeopathist, carry the good medi- 
cine of morality, bravery, industry, enterprise, honor — everything that goes to make 
up the true manly and noble character, so subtly woven into the thread of his inter- 
I esting narrative that the writer without detecting its presence receives the whole- 
'some benefit. 

Mr. Alger became famous in the publication of that undying book, " Ragged 
' Dick ; or, Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its 
'success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to writing for young 
people, which he has since continued. It was a new field for a writer when Mr, 
Alger began, and his treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. 
"Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and since then it has been selling steadily 
until now it is estimated that over two hundred thousand copies of the series have 
passed into circulation. Mr. Alger possesses in an eminent degree that sympathy 
with boys which a writer must have to meet with success. He is able to enter into 
their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He knows how to look upon life as they do. 
He writes straight at them as one from their ranks and not down upon them as a 
towering fatherly adviser. A boy's heart naturally opens to a writer who under- 
stands him and makes a companion of him. This, we believe, accounts for the 
enormous sale of the books of this writer. We are told that about three-quarters of a 
million copies of his books have been sold and that all the large circulating libraries 
in the country have several complete sets of them, of which but few volumes are 
found on the shelves at one time. 

Horatio Alger, Jr., was born in Revere, Massachusetts, January 13, 1834. 
He graduated at Harvard University in 1852, after which he spent several years in 
teaching and newspaper work. In 1864 he was ordained as a Unitarian minister 
and served a Massachusetts church for two years. It was in 1866 that he took up 
his residence in New York and became deeply interested in the street boys and 
exerted what influence he could to the bettering of their condition. His experience 
in this work furnished him with the information out of which grew many of his 

later writings. 

29 449 



45° 



HORATIO ALGER. 



To enumerate the various volumes published by this author would be tedious. 
They have generally been issued in series. Several volumes complete one subject 
or theme. His first published book was "Bertha's Christmas Vision" (1855). 
Succeeding this came " Nothing to Do," a tilt at our best society, in verse (1857); 
"Frank's Campaign; or, What a Boy Can Do" (1864); "Helen Ford," a novel, 
and also a volume of poems (1866). Tlie "Ragged Dick" series began in 1868. 
and comprises six volumes. Succeeding this came "Tattered Tom," first and 
second series, comprising eight volumes. The entire fourteen volumes above 
referred to are devoted to New York street life of boys. " Ragged Dick " has served 
as a model for many a poor boy struggling upward, while the influence of Phil the 
fiddler in the " Tattered Tom " series is credited with having had much to do ia 
the abolishment of the padrone system. The " Campaign Series " comprised three 
volumes; the " Luck and Pluck Series " eight ; the "Brave and Bold" four; the 
"Pacific Series" four; the " Atlantic Series " four; " Way to Success" four; the 
"New World" three; the "Victory Series" three. All of these were published 
prior to 1896. Since the beginning of 1896 have apjieared "Frank Hunter's Peril," 
" The Young Salesman " and other later works, all of which have met with the 
usual cordial reception accorded by the boys and girls to the books of this favorite 
author. It is perhajjs but just to say, now that Oliver Optic is gone, that Mr. 
Alger has attained distinction as the most popular writer of books for boys in 
America, and perhaps no other writer for the young has ever stimulated and 
encouraged earnest boys in their eftbrts to rise in the world or so strengthened their 
will to persevere in well-doing, and at the same time written stories so real that 
every one, young and old, delights to read them. He not only writtes interesting 
and even thrilling stories, but what is of very great importance, they are always 
clean and healthy. 



HOW DICK BEGAN THE DAY* 

(from " RAGGED DICK ; OR, STREET LIFE IN NEW YORK.") 




AKE up, there, youngster," said a rough 
voice. 
Ragsed Dick opened his ej'es slowlj' and 
stared stupidly in the face of the speaker, but did not 
oflFer to get up. 

" Wake up, you young vagabond ! " said the man a 
little impatiently ; " I suppose you'd lay there all day 
if I hadn't called you." 

" What tin-e is it ? " asked Dick. 

" Seven o'clock." 

" Seven o'clock ! I oughter've been up an hour 
ago. I know what 'twas made me so precious sleepy. 
I went to the Old Bowery last night and didn't turn 
in till past twelve." 

" You went to the Old Bowery ? Where'd you get 
your money? " asked the man, who was a porter in 
the employ of a firm doing business on Spruce Street. 



" Made it on shines, in course. My guardian don't 
allow me no money for theatres, so I have to earn it." 

" Some boys get it easier than that," said the 
porter, significantly. 

"You don't catch me stealing, if that's what yon 
mean," said Dick. 

" Don't you ever steal, then ?" 

" No, and I wouldn't. Lots of boys does it. but I 
wouldn't." 

" Well, I'm glad to hear you say that. I believe 
there's some good in you, Dick, after all." 

" Oh, I'm a rough customer," said Dick. " But I 
wouldn't steal. It's mean." 

" I'm glad you think so, Dick," and the rough vnice 
sounded gentler than at first. " Have you got any 
money to buy your breakfast ? " 

" No ; but I'll soon have some." 



* CoDjrightj Porter iji: Coates. 



HORATIO ALGEE. 



451 



While (his conversation had been going on Pick 
had got up. I lis bed chamber had been a wooden 
bos, half full of straw, on which the young boot- 
black had reposed his weary limbs and slept as soundly 
as if it had been a bed of down. lie dumped down 
into the straw without taking the trouble of undress- 
ing. Getting up, too, was an equally short process. 
He jumped out of the bos, sb-jnk himself, picked nut 
one or two straws that had fouud their way into rents 
in his clothes, and, drawing a well-worn cap over his 
uncombed locks, he was all ready for the business of 
the day. 

Pick's appearance, as he stood beside the box, was 
rather peculiar. His pants were torn in several 
places, and had apparently belonged in the first in- 
stance to a boy two sizes larger than himself. He 
wore a vest, all the buttons of which were gone ex- 
cept two, out of which peeped a shirt which looked as 
if it had been worn a month. To complete his costume 
he wore a coat too long for him, dating back, if one 
might judge from its general appearance, to a remote 
antiquity. 

Washing the hands and face is usually considered 
proper in commencing the day ; but Pick was above 
such refinement. He had no particular dislike to 
dirt, and did not think it necessary to remove several 
dark streaks on his face and hands. But in spite of 
his dirt and rags there was something about Pick that 
was attractive. It was easy to see that if he had 
been clean and well-dressed he would have been de- 
cidedly good-looking. Some of his companions were 
sly. and their faces inspired distrust ; but Dick had a 
straightforward manner that made him a favorite. 

Dick's business hours had commenced. He had no 
office to open. His little blacking-box was ready for 
use, and he looked sharply in the faces of all who 
passed, addressing each with, " Shine your boots, sir?" 

" How much ? " asked a gentleman on his way to 
his office. 

"Ten cents," said Pick, dropping his box, and 
sinking upon his knees on the sidewalk, flourishing his 
brush with the air of one skilled in his profession. 

" Ten cents ! Isn't that a little steep ? " 



■' Well, you know 'taint all dear profit," said Pick, 
who had already set to work. " There's the blacking 
costs something, and I have to get a new brush pretty 
often." 

" And you have a large rent, too," said the gentle- 
man, quizzically, with a glance at a large hole in 
Pick's coat. 

" Yes, sir," said Pick, always ready for a joke ; '• I 
have to pay such a big rent for my manshun up on 
Fifth Avenue that I can't afford to take less than ten 
cents a shine. I'll give you a bully shine, sir." 

'' Be quick about it then, for I am in a hurry. So 
your house is on Fifth Avenue, is it ? " 

" It isn't anywhere else," said Pick, and Pick spoke 
the truth there. 

" What tailor do you patronize ?" asked the gentle- 
man, surveying Pick's attire. 

" Would you like to go to the same one ? " asked 
Pick, shrewdly. 

" Well, no ; it strikes me that he didn't give you a 
very good fit." 

" This coat once belonged to General Washington," 
said Pick, comically. " He wore it all through the 
Revolution, and it got tore some, 'cause he fit so 
hard. When he died he told his widder to give it to 
some smart young fellow that hadn't got none of his 
own : so she gave it to me. But if you'd like it, sir, 
to remember General Washington by, I'll let you have 
it reasonable." 

" Thank you, but I wouldn't like to deprive you of 
it. And did your pants come from General Wash- 
ington, too ? " 

" No, they was a gift from Lewis Napoleon. Lewis 
had outgrown 'em and sent 'em to me ; he's bigger 
than me, and that's why they don't fit. 

" It seems you have distinguished friends. Now, 
my lad, I suppose you would like your money." 

" I shouldn't have any objection," said Pick. 

And now, having fairly introduced Ragged Pick to 
my young readers, I must refer them to the oe.xi 
chapter for his further adventures. 



p-^CfJ-^fyt-fCif-'^^yh^^C^^ 



iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaiiiiiiii!i«iiiiiiiNiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiii)iiii 




!iit[iii!lliiiniiiiiiiiitiiiiiii?i!tiniiiiiiitiiiiu!iiiiiii 



w^^^i^^^^^s^^^ii:^^^^^^^^^^^^:^^^^^^^^. 



EDWARD S. ELLIS. 



WKITEE OF POPULAK BOOKS FOR BOYS. 




pWARD S. ELLIS is one of the most successful of the large group of 
men and women who have made it their principal business to provide 
delightful books for our young jieople. 

Mr. Ellis is a native of northern Ohio, born in 1840, but has 
lived most of his life in New Jersey. At the age of seventeen, he 
began his successful career as a teacher and was attached for some 
years to the State Normal School of New Jersey, and was Trustee and Superintend- 
ent of the schools in the city of Trenton. He received the degree of A. M. from 
Princeton University on account of the high character of his historical text-books; 
but he is most widely known as a writer of books for boys. Of these, he has 
written about thirty and continues to issue two new ones each year, all of which are 
republished in London. His contributions to children's jiapers are so highly 
esteemed that the " Little Folks' Magazine," of London, pays him double the rates 
given to any other contributor. Mr. Ellis's School Histories have been widely used 
as text-books and he has also written two books on Arithmetic. He is now prepar- 
ing " The Standard History of the United States." 

Besides those already mentioned, the titles of which would make too long a list 
to be inserted here, he lias written a great man}' miscellaneous books. 

Mr. Ellis abounds in good nature and is a delightful companion, and finds in 
his home at Englewood, New Jersey, all that is necessary to the enjoymeut of life. 



THE SIGNAL FIRE* 

(prom " STORM MOUNTAIN.") 




ALBOT FROST paused on the crest of 
Storm Mountain and looked across the 
lonely Oakland Valley spread out before 
him. 

He had traveled a clean hundred miles through the 
forest, swimming rapid streams, dodging Indians and 
Tories, and ever on the alert for his enemies, who 
were equally vigilant in their search for him. 



He eluded them all, however, for Frost, grim and 
grizzled, was a veteran backwoodsman who had been 
a border scout for a score of years or more, and he 
knew all the tricks of the cunning Iroquois, whose 
ambition was to destroy every white person that could 
be reached with rifle, knife, or tomahawk. 

Frost had been engaged on many duties for the 
leading American officers, but he was sure that to-daj 



4S2 



' Copyright, Porter & Coates. 




LOUISA M.ALCOTT 



SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT 



POPULAR WRITERS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 



EDWAKD S. ELLIS. 



453 



was the most important of all ; for be it known that 
be (.arried, hidden in the heel of his shoe, a message 
in cipher from General George Washington himself. 

Fi-ost had been promised one hundred dollars in 
gold by the immortal leader of the American armies, 
if lie would place the piece of cipher writing in the 
hands of Colonel ^iick Hawley, before the evening of 
tlie tenth day of August, 1777. 

To-day was the tenth, the afternoon was only half 
gone, and Fort Defiance, with its small garrison under 
the command of Hawley, was only a mile distant in 
Oakland Valley. The vale spread away for many 
leagues to the right and left, and was a couple of miles 
wide at the point where the small border settlement 
was planted, with its stockade fort and its dozen 
families clustered near. 

•' Thar's a good three hours of sunlight left," mut- 
tered the veteran, squinting one eye toward the sultry 
August sky, " and I orter tramp to the fort and back 
asnn in half that time. I'll be thar purty quick, if 
nnne of the varmints trip me up, but afore leavin' this 
orest, I'd like to cotch the signal fire of young Koslyn 
from over yender." 

General 'Washington considered the message to 
C'llonel Hawley so important that he had sent it in 
duplicate; that is to say, two messengers concealed 
the cipher about their persons and set out by widely 
different routes to Fort Defiance, in Oakland Valley. 

Since the distance was about the same, and it was 
not e.xpected that there would be much variation in 
speed, it was believed that, barring accidents, the two 
would arrive in .sight of their destination within a 
short time of each other. 

The other messenger was Elmer Roslyn, a youth 
of seventeen, a native of Oakland, absent with his 
father in the Continental Army, those two being the 
enly members of their family who escaped an Indian 
aiassacre that had burst upon the lovely settlement 
eome months before. 

It was agreed that whoever first reached the moun- 
tain crest should signal to the other by means of a 
small fire — large enough merely to send up a slight 
vapor that would show against the blue sky beyond. 

The keen eyes of Talbot Frost roved along the 
nigged mountain-ridge a couple of miles distant, in 
search of the tell-tale signal. They followed the 
craggy crest a long distance to the north and south of 



the point where Roslyn had promised to appear, but 
the clear summer air was unsustaiiied by the least 
semblance of smoke or vapor. The day itself was of 
unusual brillianc}', not the least speck of a cloud be- 
ing visible in the tinted sky. 

" That Elmer Roslyn is a powerful pert young chap," 
said the border scout to himself. " I don't thihk I 
ever seed his ekal, and he can fight in battles jes' like 
his father. Captain Mart, that I've heerd Gineral 
Washington say was one of the best ofiieers he's got; 
but thar's no sense in his puttin' himself agin an old 
campaigner like me. I don't s'pose he's within 
twenty mile of Oakland yit, and he won't have a 
chance to kindle that ere signal fire afore to-morrer. 
So I'll start mine, and in case he should accidentally 
reach the mountain-top over yender afore sundown, 
why he 11 see what a foolish younker he was to butt 
agin me." 

Talbot Frost knew that despite the perils through 
which he had forced his way to this spot, the greatest 
danger, in all probability, lay in the brief space separ- 
ating him from Fort Defiance in the middle of the 
valley. 

It was necessary, therefore, to use great care lest 
the signal fire should attract the attention of un- 
friendly eyes. 

" I'll start a small one," he said, beginning to 
gather some dry twigs, "just enough for Elmer to 
obsarve by sarchin' — by the great Gineral 'Wash- 
ington ! " 

To explain this exclamation of the old scout, I must 
tell you that before applying the flint and tinder to 
the crumpled leaves, Talbot Frost glanced across the 
opposite mountain-crest, two miles away. 

As he did so he detected a fine, wavy column of 
smoke chmbing from the rocks and trees. It was so 
faint that it was not likely to attract notice, unless a 
suspicious eye happened to look toward that part of 
the sky. 

" By gracious ! It's bim ! " he exclaimed, closing 
his mouth and resuming command of himself. " That 
ere young Roslyn is pearter than I thought; if he 
keeps on at this rate by the time he reaches my years 
he'll be the ekal of me — almost. Wall, I'll have to 
answer him ; when we meet I'll explanify that 
I give him up, and didn't think it was wuth while to 
start a blaze." 



SAEAH JANE LIPPINCOTT. 



FAVORITE WRITER FOR LITTLE CHILDREN. 




XE of the earliest papers devoted especially to young children was 
"The Little Pilgrim," edited for a number of years under the name 
of "Grace Greenwood," by Mrs. Lippincott. It had a very wide 
popularity, and its little stories, poems, and page of puzzles brought 
pleasure into very many home circles. Mrs. Lippincott is the 
daughter of Doctor Thaddeus Clarke. She was born in Pompey, 
New York, in September, 1823, and lived during most of her childhood iu 
Rochester. In 1842 she removed with her father to New Brighton, Pennsylvania, 
and in 1853 she was married to Leander K. Lippincott, of Philadelphia. She had 
early begun to write verses, and, in 1844, contributed some prose articles to "The 
New York Mirror," adopting the name "Grace Greenwood," which .she has since 
made famous. Besides her work upon "The Little Pilgrim," she has contributed 
for many years to "The Hearth and Home," "The Atlantic Monthly," "Harper's 
Magazine," "The New York Independent," "Times," and "Tribune," to several 
California journals, and to at least two English periodicals. She was one of the 
first \vomen to become a newspaper correspondent, and her letters from Washington 
inaugurated a new feature in journalism. She has published a number of books: 
"Greenwood Leaves;" "History of My Pets;" "Poems;" "Recollections of My 
Childhood;" "Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe;" "Merrie England;" 
"Stories from Many Lands;" "Victoria, Queen of England," and others. 

Mrs. Lippincott has lived abroad a great deal, and has been made welcome in 
the best literary circles in England and on the continent. During the war she 
devoted herself to the cause of the soldiers, read and lectured to them in camps 
and hospitals, and won the appreciation of President Lincoln, who used to speak 
of her as "Grace Greenwood, the Patriot." Although devoted to her home iu 
Washington, she has spent much time in New York City, and has lived a life 
whose activity and service to the public are almost unequalled among literary 
women. 



THE BABY IN THE BATH-TUB.* 

(from "records of five years," 1867.) 




NNIE ! Sophie ! come up quick, and see 
baby in her bath-tub ! " cries a charming 
little maiden, running down the wide stair- 



way of an old country house, and half-way up the 
long hall, all in a fluttering cloud of jiink lawn, her 
soft dimpled cheeks tinged with the same lovely mom- 



454 



* Copyright, Houghton, Mifflin i- Co. 



SARAH JANE LIPPINCOTT. 



455 



ing hue. In an instant there is a stir and a gush of 
light laughter in the drawing-room, and presently, 
with a iMovement a little more majestic and elder-sis- 
terly, Annie and Sophie float noiselessly through the 
hall and up the soft-carpeted ascent, as though borne 
on their respective clouds of blue and white drapery, 
and take iheir way to the nursery, where a novel en- 
tertaiimient awaits them. It is the first morning of 
the eldest married sister's first visit home, with her 
first baby ; and the first baby, having slept late after 
its journey, is about to take its first bath in the old 
hjuse. 

'' Well, I declare, if here isn't mother, forgetting 
her dairy, and Cousin Nellie, too, who must have left 
poor Ned all to himself in the garden, lonely and dis- 
consolate, and I am torn from my books, and Sophie 
from her flowers, and all for the sake of seeing a nine- 
month-old baby kicking about in a bath-tub ! What 
sim])letons we are ! " 

Thus Miss Annie, the proude layde of the family ; 
handsome, haughty, with perilous proclivities toward 
grand socialistic theories, transcendentalism, and gen- 
eral strong-mindedness ; pledged by many a saucy vow 
to a life of single dignity and freedom, given to 
i studies artistic, aesthetic, philosophic and ethical ; a 
• student of Plato, an absorber of Emerson, an exalter 
' of her sex, a contemner of its natural enemies. 

"Simpletons, are we?" cries pretty Elinor Lee, 
aunt of the baby on the other side, and " Cousin 
Nellie'' by love's courtesy, now kneeling close by the 
bath-tub, and receiving on her sunny braids a liberal 
baptism from the pure, plashing hands of babyhood, 
— '' .simpletons, indeed ! Did I not once see thee, 
I Pallas-Athene, standing rapt before a copy of the 
' Crouching Venus '? ' and this is a sight a thousand 
♦imes more beautiful ; for here we have color, action, 
radiant life, and such grace as the divinest sculptors 
of Greece were never able to entrance in marble. Just 
look at the.se white, dimpled shoulders, every dimple 
holding a tiny, sparkling drop, — these rosy, plashing 
feet and hands, — this laughing, roguish face, — these 
j eyes, bright and blue and deep as lakes of fairy-land, 
— these ears, like dainty sea-shells, — these locks of 
gold, dripping diamonds, — and tell me what cherub 
of Titian, what Cupid of Greuze, was ever half so 
lovely. I say, too, that Raphael himself would have 
jumped at the chance of painting Louise, as she sits 



there, towel in hand, in all the serene pride and chaa- 
tened dignity of young maternity, — of painting her aa 
Madonna." 

'• Why, Cousin Nellie is getting pnetical for once, 
over a baby in a bath-tub ! " 

'• Well, Sophie, isn't it a subject to inspire real 
poets, to call out and yet humble the genius of 
painters and sculptors '! Isn't it an object for the 
reverence of ' a glorious human creature,' — such a 
pure and perfect form of ] hysieal life, such a starry 
little soul, fresh from the hands of God '? If your 
Plato teaches otherwise. Cousin Annie, I'm glad I've 
no acquaintance with that distinguished heathen gen- 
tleman ; if your Carlyle, with his ' soul above buttons' 
and babies, would growl, and your Emerson smile icily 
at the sight, away with them ! " 

" W^hy, Nellie, you goose, Carlyle is ' a man and a 
brother,' in spite of his ' Latter-day Pamphlets,' and 
no ogre. I believe he is very well disposed toward 
babies in general ; while Emerson Ls as tender as he is 
great. Have you forgotten his ' Threnody,' in which 
the sob of a mortal's sorrow rises and swells into an 
immortal's pean '? I see that baby is very lovely ; I 
think that Louise may well be proud of her. It's a pity 
that she must grow up into conventionalities and all 
that, — perhaps become some man's jilaything, or 
slave." 

" (/on'^, ^sister ! — 'sufficient for the day is the 
worriment thereof But I think you and Nellie are 
mistaken about the pride. I am conscious of no such 
feeling in regard to my little Florence, but only of 
joy, gratitude, infinite tenderness, and solicitude." 

Thus the j'oung mother, — for the first time speak- 
ing, but not turning her eyes from the bath-tub. 

'• Ah, coz, it won't go I Young mothers are the 
proudest of living creatures. The sweetest and saint- 
liest among you have a sort of subdued exultation, a 
meek assumption, an adorable insulence, toward the 
whole unmarried and childless world. I have never 
seen anything like it elsewhere." 

"/ have, in a bantam Biddy, parading her first 
brood in the hen-yard, or a youthful duck, leading her 
first little downy flock to the water." 

"Ha, blasphemer! are you there?" cries Misa 
Nellie, with a bright smile, and a brighter blush. 
Blasphemer's other name is a tolerably good one, — 
Edward Norton, — though he is oftenest called '• Our 



456 



SAKAH JANE LIPPI>XOTT. 



Ned." He is the sole male representative of a wealthy 
old New England fauiilj", — the pride and darling of 
four pretty sisters, " the only son of his mother, and 
she a widuw," who adores him,- — •■' a likely youth, just 
twenty-one," handsome, brilliant, and standing six feet 
high in his stockings. Yet, in spite of all these un- 
favorable circumstances, he is a very good sort of a 
fellow. He is just home from the model college of 
the Commonwealth, where he learned to smoke, and, 
I blush to say, has a cigar in hand at this moment, 
just as he has been summoned from the garden by 
his pet sister, Kate, half-wild with delight and excite- 
ment. With him comes a brother, according to the 
law, and after the spirit, — a young, slender, fair-haired 
man, but with an indescribable something of paternal 
importance about him. He is the other proprietor 
of baby, and steps forward with a laugh and a " Heh, 
my Uttle water-nymph, my Iris ! " and by the bath-tub 
kneeling, catches a moist kiss from smiling baby lips, 
and a sudden wilting shower on shirt-front and collar, 
n-om moister baby hands. 

Young Collegian pauses on the threshold, essaying 
to look lofty and sarcastic, for a moment. Then his 
eye rests on Nellie Lee's blushing face, on the red, 
smiling lips, the braids of gold, sprinkled with shining 
drops, — meets those sweet, shy eyes, and a sudden, 
mysterious feeling, soft and vague and tender, floods 
his gay young heart. He looks at baby again. " 'Tis 
a pretty sight, upon my word ! Let me throw away 
my cigar before I come nearer ; it is incense too pro- 



fane fur such pure rites. Now ^ve me a peep at 
Dian-the less ! How the little witch ' revels in the 
water ! A small Undine. Jolly, isn't it, baby ? V/hy, 
Louise, I did not know that Floy was so lovely, such 
a perfect little creature. How fair she is ? Why, 
her flesh, where it is not rosy, is of the pure, trans- 
lucent whiteness of a water-lily." 

No response to this tribute, for baby has been in 
the water more than long enough, and must be taken 
out, willy, uiUy. Decidedly nilly it proves ; baby 
proceeds to demonstrate that she is not altogether 
cherubic, by kicking and screaming lustily-, and strik- 
ing out frantically with her Uttle, dripping hands. 
But Madonna wraps her in soft linen, rolls her and 
pats her, till she grows good and merry again, and 
laughs through her pretty tears. 

But the brief storm has been enough to clear the 
nursery of all save grandmamma and Auntie Kate, 
who draw nearer to witness the process of drying and 
dressing. Tenderly the mother rubs the dainty, soft 
skin, till every dimple gives up its last hidden drop- 
let ; then, with many a kiss, and smile, and coo, she 
robes the little form in fairy-like garments of cambric, 
lace, flannel, soft as a moth's wing, and delicate em- 
broidery. The small, restless feet are caught, and 
encased in comical little hose, and shod with Titania's 
own slippers. Then the light golden locks are brushed 
and twined into tendril-like curls, and lo ! the beauti- 
ful labor of love is finished. Baby is bathed aoi 
dressed for the day. 



.. m y. ru . 



=m 



&= 



zymimiiiiiiiimi 






iiiLMiiiiiiiiiiiiminiiiii 



iiiiiiiiiiiiii Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim tt 

^' 1.^' c') ^^' O C^ C "~ 

-■-'-■-■■■ • ■"-■- ■•— T3| 

5 






e 
s i 



illMlllllllllHII 



=^:m3= 



MARTHA FINLEY. 




THE GIRLS FRIEND. 

ARTHA FINLEY, author of the "Elsie Books," etc., amounting in all 
to about one hundred volumes, was born in Chillicothe, Ohio, April 
26, 1828, in the house of her grandfatlier. Major Samuel Fiiiley, 
of the Virginia Cavalry, in the AVar of the Revolution, and a per- 
sonal friend of Washington, who, while President, appointed him 
"Collector of Public Monies" for the Northwestern Territory of 
which Ohio was then a part. In the war of 1812-14 Major Finley marched to 
Detroit to the assistance of General Hull, at the head of a regiment of Ohio 
volunteers in which his eldest son, James Brown Finley, then a lad of eighteen, was 
a lieutenant. On Hull's disgraceful surrender tliose troops were paroled and 
returned to their homes in Ohio. James Finley afterwards became a physician and 
married his mother's niece, Maria Tlieresa Brown. Martha was their sixth child. 
In the spring of 1836 Dr. Finley left Ohio for South Bend, Indiana, where he 
resided until his death in 1851. 

Something more than a year later Martha joined a widowed sister in New York 
city and resided there with her for about eighteen months. It was then and there 
she began her literary career by writing a newspaper story and a little Sunday- 
school book. But she was broken down in health and half blind from astigmatism ; 
so bad a case that the oculist who years afterward measured her eyes for glasses, told 
her she would have been excusable had she said she could not do anything at all. 
But she loved books and would manage to read and write in spite of the difficulty 
of so doing; and a great difficulty it was, for in the midst of a long sentence the 
letters would seem to be thrown into confusion, and it was necessary to look away 
from the book or close her eyes for an instant before they would resume their j^roper 
positions. 

But orphaned and dependent upon hei- own exertions, she struggled on, teach- 
ing and writing, living sometimes in Phihulelphia with a stepmother who was kind 
enough to give her a home, sometimes in Phoenixville, Pa., where she taught a 
little select school. It was there she began the Elsie Series which have proved her 
most successful venture in literature. The twenty-second volume, published in 
1897, is entitled Elsie at Home. The author has again and again proposed to end 
the series, thinking it long enough, but public and ]niblishers have insisted upon 
another and yet another volume. The books have sold so well that they have made 

■457 



o MAETHA FINLEY. 

458 

ker a lovely home in Elkton, Maryland, whither she removed in 1876 and still 
resides, and to yield her a comfortable income. 

But her works are not all juveniles. " Wanted a Pedigree," and most of the 
other works in the Finley Series are for adults, and though not so very jiopular as 
the Elsie Books, still have steady sales though nearly all have been on the market 
for more than twenty years. 



ELSIE'S DISAPPOINTMENT.* 

(from " ELSIE DINSMORE.") 




HE school-room at Roselands was a very 
pleasant apartment. Within sat Miss Day 
■with her pupils, six in number. 

" Young ladies and gentlemen," said she, looking at 
her watch, " I shall leave you to your studies for an 
hour ; at the end of which time I shall return to hear 
your recitations, when those who have attended 
properly to their duties will be permitted to ride out 
with me to visit the fair." 

•' Oh 1 that will be jolly ! " exclaimed Arthur, a 
bright-eyed, mischief-loving boy of ten. 

" Hush ! " said Miss Day sternly ; " let me hear 
no more such exclamations ; and remember that you 
will not go unless your lessons are thoroughly learned. 
Louise and Lora," addressing two young girls of the 
respective ages of twelve and fourteen, " that French 
exercise must be perfect, and your English lessons as 
well. Elsie," to a Utile girl of eight, sitting alone at 
a desk near one of the windows, and bending over a 
slate with an appearance of great industry, " every 
figure of that example must be correct, your geography 
lesson recited perfectly, and a page in your copy-book 
jrritten without a blot." 

" Yes. ma'am," said the child meekly, raising a pair 
of large soft eyes of the darkest haz.;( for an instant 
to ber teacher's face, and then dropping them again 
upon her slate. 

" And see that none of you leave the room until I 
return," continued the governess. "Walter, if you 
miss oae word of that spelling, you will have to stay 
It home and learn it over." 

" Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty 
sure to do," muttered Arthur, as the door closed on 
Mi« Day, and her retreating footsteps were beard 



passing down the hall. 

For about ten minutes after her departure, all was said Elsie, laying her slate aside in despair, 

•CoDTright, 1893. Dodd, Mead & Co. 



quiet in the school-room, each seemingly completely 
absorbed in study. But at the end of that time 
Arthur sprang up, and, flinging his book across the 
room, exclaimed, " There ! I know my lesson ; and if 
I didn't, I shouldn't study another bit for old Day, 01 
Night either." 

'■ Do be quiet, Arthur," said his sister Louise; "I 
can't study in such a racket." 

Arthur stole on tiptoe across the room, and com- 
ing up behind Elsie, tickled the back of her neck 
with a feather. 

She started, saying in a pleading tone, "Please, 
Arthur, don't." 

" It pleases me to do," he said, repeating the ex- 
periment. 

Elsie changed her position, saying in the same 
gentle, persuasive tone, " Arthur ! please let me 
alone, or I never shall be able to do this example." 

" What ! all this time on one example ! you ought 
to be ashamed. Why, I could have done it half a 
dozen times over." 

" I have been over and over it," replied the little 
girl in a tone of despondency, " and still there are two 
figures that will not come right." 

" How do you know they are not right, little puss ? " 
shaking her curls as he spoke. 

'• Oh ! please, Arthur, don't pull my hair. I have 
the answer — that's the way I know." 

Well, then, why don't you just set the figures 
down. I would." 

" Oh ! no, indeed ; that would not be honest." 

" Pooh ! nonsense ! nobody would be the wiser, nor 
the poorer." 

" No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I 
can never get it right while you are bothering me so," 

Then, 



MARTHA FINLEY. 



459 



Jaking out ter geography, she began stuJying most 
diligently. But Arthur continued his persecutions- 
ticklinir her, pulling her hair, twitching the book out 
of her hand, and talking almost incessantly, making 
remarks, and a.sking questions ; till at last Elsie said, 
as it' just ready to cry, " Indeed, Arthur, if you don't 
let me alone, I shall never be able to get my lessons." 

" Go away, then ; take your book out on the ve- 
randa, and learn your lessons there," said Louise. 
" I'll callyou when Miss Day comes." 

" Oh I no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it 
would be disobedience," replied Elsie, taking out her 
writing materials. 

Arthur .stood uver her criticising every letter she 
made, and tinally jogged her elbow in such a way as 
to cause her to drop all the ink in her pen upon the 
paper, making quite a large blot. 

" Oh !" cried the little girl, bursting into tears. 
" now I shall lose my ride, for Miss Day will not let 
me go; and I was so anxious to see all those beauti- 
ful flowers." 

Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some 
compunction when he saw the mischief he had done. 
" Never mind, Elsie," said he, " I can fix it yet. Just 
let me tear out this page, and you can begin again on 
the nest, and I'll not bother jou. I'll make these 
two figures come right, tuo," he added, taking up her 
Slate. 

'■ Thank you, Arthur," said the little girl, smiling 
through her tears ; " you are very kind, but it would 
nut be honest to do either, and I had rather stay at 
home than be deceitful." 

" Very well, miss," said he, tossing his head, and 
walking away, " since you won't let me help you, it 
is all your own fault if you have to stay at home." 

Elsie finished her page, and, excepting the unfortu- 
nate blot, it all looked very neat indeed, showing plainly 
that it had been written with great care. She then 
toiik up her slate and patiently went over and over 
every figure of the troublesome example, trying to 
discover where her mistake had been. But much 
time had been lost through Arthur's teasing, and her 
Jiind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing 
that she tried in vain to fix it upim the business in 
hand ; and before the two troublesome figures had been 
made right, the hour was past and Miss Day returned. 

'■ Oh 1 " thought Elsie, '■ if she will only hear the 



others first ; " but it was a vain hope. Miss Day had 
no so(Mier seated herself at her desk than she called, 
'• Elsie, come here and say that lesson ; and bring 
your copybook and slate, that I may examine your 
work." 

Elsie tremlilingly obeyed. 

The lesson, though a dilEcult one, was very tolera- 
bly recited ; for Elsie, knowing Arthur's propensity 
for teasing, had studied it in her own room before 
school hours. But Miss Day handed back the bookf 
with a frown, saying, " I told you the recitation must 
be perfect, and it was not. There are two incorrect 
figures in this example," said she, laying down the 
slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking 
up the copy-book, she exclaimed, " Careless, diso- 
bedient child I did I not caution you to be careful not 
to blot your book ? There will be no ride for you ihh 
morning. You have failed in everything. Go to youi 
seat. Make that example right, and do the next ; 
learn your geography lesson over, and write another 
page in your copy-book ; and mind, if there is a blot 
on it, you will get no dinner." 

Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and 
obeyed. 

During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretend- 
ing to study, but glancing every now and then at 
Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill at ease. She 
cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to 
her seat ; but he turned away his head, muttering. 
" It's all her own fault, for she wouldn't let me help 
her." 

As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora's 
eyes fixed on him with an expression of scorn and 
contempt. He colored violently, and dropped nis 
upon his book. 

" IMiss Day," said Lora, indignantly, " I see Arthur 
does not mean to speak, and as I cannot bear to see 
such injustice, I must tell you that it is all his fault 
that Elsie has fixiled in her lessons ; for she tried her 
very best, but he teased her incessantly, and also 
jogged her elbow and made her spill the ink on her 
book ; and to her credit she was too honorable to tear 
out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make 
her example right ; both which he very generously 
proposed doing after causing all the mischief. " 

" Is this so, Arthur?" asked Miss Day, angrily. 

The boy hung his head, but made no reply. 



460 



MARTHA FIXLEY. 



" Very well, then," said Miss Day, " you too must 
stay at home." 

■' Surely," said Lora, in surprise, " you will not 
keep Elsie, since I have shown you that she was not 
to blame." 

" 3Iiss Lora," replied her teacher, haughtily, "I 
wish you to understand that I am not to be dictated 
to by my pupils." 

Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day 
went on hearing the lessons without further remark. 

In the meantime the little Elsie sat at her desk, 
"itriying to conquer the feelings of anger and indigna- 
tion that were swelling in her breast ; for Elsie, 
though she possessed much of " the ornament of a 
meek and quiet spirit," was not yet perfect, and often 
had a fierce contest with her naturally quick temper. 
Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or tone or 
look betrayed the existence of such feeUngs ; and it 
was a common remark in the family that Elsie had 
no Rpirit. 

The recitations were scarcely finished when the 
door opened and a lady entered dressed for a ride. 

" Not through yet, Jliss Day ?" she asked. 

"Yes, madam, we are just done," replied the 
teacher, closing the French grammar and handing it 
to Louise. 

" Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty 
this morning, and are ready to accompany us to the 
fair," said Mrs. Dinsmore. " But what is the matter 
with Elsie ? " 

"She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore 
has been told that she must remain at home," replied 
Miss Day with heightened color and in a tone of 



anger ; " and as Miss Lora tells me that Master 
Arthur was partly the cause, I have forbidden him 
also to accompany us." 

" Excuse me. Miss Day, for correcting you," saiJ 
Lora, a little indignantly ; " but I did not szj partii/, 
for I am sure it was entirely his fault." 

" Hush, hush, Lora," said her mother, a little im- 
patiently ; " how can you be sure of any such thing; 
Jliss Day, I must beg of you to excuse Arthur this 
once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him 
along. He is fond of mischief, I know, but he is 
only a child, and you must not be too hard upon 
him." 

" Very well, madam," replied the governess stifiBy, 
" you have of course the best right to control your 
own children." 

Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave the room. 

" Mamma," asked Lora, " is not Elsie to be allowed 
to go too ? " 

" Elsie is not my child, and I have nothing to say 
about it. Miss Day, who knows all the circum- 
stances, is much better able than I to judge whether 
or no she is deserving of punishment," replied Mrs. 
Dinsmore, sailing out of the room. 

" You will let her go, Miss Day ?" said Lora, in- 
quiringly. 

" Jliss Lora," replied Jliss Day, angrily, " I have 
already told you I was not to be dictated to. I have 
said Elsie must remain at home, and I shall not break 
my word." 

" Such injustice ! " muttered Lora, turning away. 

Miss Day hastily cjuitted the room, followed bj 
Louise and Lora, and Elsie was left alone. 





AMERICAN LITERATURE IN THE CLOSING YEARS OF THE 

NINETEENTH CENTURY. 

F the making- of books there is no end." So says the Proverb; but 
what -would he have said had he lived in the twentieth century A. D., 
instead of dwelling upon the earth several centuries B. C. ? Books 
in our day have ceased to be made in the ancient sense; they are 
fairly rained down upon us — showered from the press like snow- 
flakes from the sky. In the old days of manuscript books it took 
months to prepare a single volume; now they fly through the lightning press and 
are tumbled upon the world at the rate of thousands of volumes a day, and are 
sold at prices which make a book as cheap as a meal, and furnishes a newspaper 
as voluminous as a book at a cheaper price than a loaf of bread. Edward Everett 
Hale — no questionable authority upon books — ventures the statement that there 
are more books made now every year than were produced in all the world through 
all the years of civilization before the nineteenth century. It fairly staggers us to 
think of this. 

Sixty years ago, when Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was being sold by 
the hundreds of thousands, the fact seemed next to magical, and many years 
passed before such a phenomenon was seen again. Then came Bellamy's "Look- 
ing Backward," mounting to its half million and more, and forming the advance- 
guard of a new era in the history of book distribution. With the beginning of 
the last decade of the nineteenth century the deluge of books was fully upon us. 
A circulation of a hundred thousand, instead of being a rare anomaly, became an 
annual fact, and before the end of the centur)' each year saw more than one book 
with anywhere from one to four or five hundred thousand circulation. A new age 
had dawned upon the world. 

We may now say in a new sense, "Of the making of books there is no end;" 
and in this notable result the United States, which a century ago could boast hardly 
a dozen readable books, is keeping pace with the most enlightened nations of 
Europe. We are a nation of readers — almost a nation of writers, for new authors 
of ability seem flashing upon the sky of literature as rapidly as the stars come out 
after the night has fallen. Every field of literature is being assailed by new and 
skillful pens; fiction first of all, then history, biography, economics, science, educa- 
tion, poetr}', essays, belles lettres in general, until one feels like crying, "Halt! 
Give us a brief interval for digestion before calling us again to the feast." 

In iSqq the book productof the United States reached a total of 5,321 titles, 

461 



462 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



not including Government publications and the minor cheap libraries. In Great 
Britain the total was 5,971. In Germany the new books issued in 1898 reached 
the astounding number of 23,739, ^^^ embraced a much smaller percentage of 
fiction than among ourselves. As regards the actual number of volumes issued, 
however, it is probable that the United States kept well in the front rank, while in 
periodical literature it left the other nations lar in the rear. Let us, for a moment, 
consider the number of newspapers issued. In the United States nearly 21,000 
separate papers were published in 1 900, while Germany was content with 7,000, Great 
Britain with 9,000, and the whole world with about 50,000 — the number in the 
United States being thus two-fifths of those in the whole world. If circulation be 
considered, the supremacy of America would probably be still more declared. Our 
magazine issues are similarly paramount, and in them is printed some of the best 
literature of this aofe of thoucjht. 

We have already taken abundantly into review the standard authors of the 
United States, the poets, novelists, historians and essayists, who shed so rich a 
light upon our history during the recent century. Among those treated some have 
but recently passed away, and others are still with us, active and brilliant writersi: 
yet, and to be classed among the prominent authors of the recent decade. It is' 
our purpose here to refer again to some of these writers, in connection with those 
who have more recently come within the circle of fame. 



A GROUP OF HISTORICAL NOVELISTS. 




i X the closing decade of the nineteenth cen- 
tury the historical novel became remark- 
ably popular, and most of the great sell- 
ing works of the period belonged to this class, in 
which our forefathers were brought upon the stage 
" in their habit as they lived," and the actual events 
of the far past were woven deftly into a tissue of 
romance. Adventure is the staple element of this 
class of fiction, and such is especially the case with 
one of its most successful examples — Mary .John- 
ston's " To Have and to Hold," a story of colonial 
Virginia in its earliest days. Of this work, issued 
early in 1900, more than 250,000 copies were sold in 
six months, a remarkable instance of passing appre- 
ciation of a work whose sun was setting before 
a second six months had passed. Such seems the 
predestined fate of the historical novel of our period — ■ 
to shine for an interval like a temporary star, and then 
to fade rapidly from sight. 



The American Revolution found a capable inter- 
preter in Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, whose " Hugh Wynne, 
Free Quaker," attained a remarkable popularity, which 
was shared by AVinston Churchill's " Richard Car- 
vel," with Paul Jones as one of its heroes, and Paul 
Leicester Ford's "Janice Meredith," in which Wash- 
ington prominently figured. Each of these works 
left the hundred thousand mark far in the rear. Oc- 
cupying other fields of history are Charles jNIajor's pop- 
ular "When Knighthood was in Flower," F. Marion 
Crawford's "Via Crucis," Dr. Mitchell's " The Ad- 
ventures of Francois," a notable tale of the French 
Revolution, and Booth Tarkington's " Monsieur 
Beaucaire," a tale of the times of Louis XV. We 
may speak here also of Gilbert Parker, a Canadian 
a>ithor, with his notable " Seats of the Mighty," a 
story of colonial Quebec, and " Battles of the 
Strong," a romance of the Channel Islands. 



IN THE CLOSING YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 



463 



HUGH WYNNE, FREE QUAKER. 



IRST of these works to win fame was Dr. 
^litchell's fresh and attractive story of the 
HiSCMI Quaker City, with its hero of Quaker 
descent, but with French blood in liis veins, and of a 
temper that soon broke the strict bonds of Quakerdom. 
The •' Free Quakers " were men born for fighting 
rather than praying, and Hugh Wynne is pictured as 
a hot-headed example of these. The story is laid 
mainly in tlie interval of the British occupation of 
Philadelphia, and its hero, whom the tenets of his 
religious ancestry fail to hold, mingles in wild com- 
pany, learns to wield the sword, and finally escapes 
from the city and joins Washington's army. He takes 
part in the battle of Germantown, is made prisoner, 
and languishes for months in the terrible prison in 
which General Howe kept his colonial captives, and 
whose horrors are vividly depicted. 

The hero, after coming near death's door, escapes, 
makes his way to Washington's camp at Valley Forge, 
reaching it near the end of the most terrible winter 
in American history, and is soon back in the city in 
the capacity of a spy. And now come thrilling ad- 
ventures and hair-breadth escapes. His wandering 
steps lead him to the scene of Major Andre's famous 
festival of the Mischeanza, which he thus describes : 

" The silly extravagance of the festival, with its 
afternoon display of draped galleys and saluting 
ships gay with flags, and its absurd show of a tour- 
nament in ridiculous costumes, I have no temptation 
to describe, nor did I see this part of it . . . The 
house was precisely like Mount Pleasant, later Gen- 
eral Arnold's home on the Schuylkill. In the centre 
of a large lawn stood a double mansion of stone, and 
a little to each side were seen outhouses for servants 
and kitchen use. The open space towards the water 
[of the Delaware] was extensive enough to admit of 
the farcical tilting of the afternoon. A great va- 
riety of evergreen trees and shrubs gave the house 
a more shaded look than the season would otherwise 
have afforded. Among these were countless lanterns 
illuminating the grounds, and from the windows on 
all sides a blaze of light was visible." 

Cautiously approacliingthe house, he looked through 
the open windows and saw within a brilliant scene. 

" The walls were covered with niirrurs lent fir the 



occasion, and the room I commanded was beautifully 
draped with flags and hangings. Young blacks stood 
at the doors, or came and went with refreshments. 
These servants were clad in blue and white, with red 
turbans and metal collars and bracelets. The six 
Knights of the Blended Roses, or some such silli- 
ness, had cast their queer raiments, and were in uni- 
form. Their six chosen ladies were still in parti- 
colored costumes, which were not to my taste. Most 
of the women — there were but some threescore, 
almost all Tories or Moderates — were in the gorgeous 
brocades and the wide-hooped .skirts of the day. The 
extravagance of the costumes struck me. The head- 
dresses, a foot above the head, with aigrets and 
feathers and an excess of powder, seemed to me 
quite astonishing. 

" I stood motionless, caught by the beauty of the 
moving picture before me. I have ever loved color, 
and here was a feast of it hard to equal. There were 
red coats and gold epaulets, sashes and ribboned 
orders, the red and green of the chasseurs of Bruns- 
wick, blue navy uniforms, the goldlace and glitter of 
stafi'-ofEcers, and in and out among them the clouds 
of floating muslin, gorgeous brocades, flashing silk 
petticoats, jewels and streaming ribbons. The air 
was full of powder shaken from wig, queue and head- 
dress ; spurs clinked, stiff gown skirts rustled. The 
moving mass of color, lovely faces and manly forms 
bent and swayed in ordered movement as the music 
of the grenadier band seemed to move at will these 
puppets of its harmony. 

" They were walking a minuet, and its tempered 
grace, which I have never ceased to admire, seemed 
to suit well the s]ilendor" of embroidered gowns and 
the brilliant glow of the scarlet coats. ... I stood a 
moment ; the night was dark ; lights gleamed far out 
on the river from the battleships. I saw as it were 
before me with distinctness the camp on the windy 
hill, the half-starved, ragged men, the face of thr. 
great chief they loved. Once again I looked back 
on this contrasting scene of foolish luxury, and turned 
to go from where I felt I never should have been." 

Of course, trouble followed, as it always does in 
novels for those who risk too much — while the heroes 
of romance invariably risk too much in order that 



464 



AMERICAN LITEEATURE 



trouble may follow. But, equally of course, the hero 
«scaped, to fight more battles and perform other val- 
orous deeds. And in the end all went well, the war 



closed, be returned to his home and found his lady. 
love faithfully waiting, and marriage and happineee 
ended all — as it does in all well-conducted fiction. JtM 



NOVELS OF HUMOR AND DIALECT. 




HE recent novelists in this popular class of 
fiction include Edward Noyes Westcott, 
with his single book " David Harum ; " Irv- 
ing Bacheller, pathetically humorous in '■ Eben 
Holden;" Frank E,. Stockton, with '-The Girl at 
•Cobburst," one of his characteristic examples of fan- 
tastic humor ; Kate Douglas Wiggin, with her amus- 
ing '■ Penelope " on her travels, and many others. 
■Chief among these in popularity we may name 



" David Harum," of which some half million copiesl 
fell into the hands of readers, and whrise lively bu-. 
mor set half the country on a broad grin. The factl 
that the author died before his book was published,] 
and in ignorance of its coming fame, adds a pathetioj 
interest to this amusing chronicle of provincial life i 
Western New York, and gives us warrant in selectingl 
it as an example worthy of fuller description. 



DAVID HARUM, THE BANKER OF HOMEVILLE. 




OMEVILLE may be taken as a typical 
town of Western New York a generation 
ago, and David Harum as a leading pro- 
vincial financier. David's besetting passion was 
horses, and bis choice relaxation a horse swap, in 
■which he rarely failed to come out victor — though 
occasionally defeat awaited this Napoleon of the turf. 
He met his fote on one occasion in Deacon Perkins, 
who sufiered his love of a bargain sometimes to lower 
his religious tone. David tells his sister, in his pecu- 
liar phraseology, the following story of the deacon's 
fidl from grace : 

" Quite a while ago — in fact, not long after I came 
to enjoy the privlidge of thedeakin's acquaintance — 
we bed a deal. I wasn't jest on my guard, knowin' 
him to be a deakin and all th'at, an' he bed to me so 
splendid that I was took in, clean' over my head. He 
done me so brown I was burnt in places, an' you c'd 
smell smoke 'round me fer some *ime. . . . 

'■ I'm quite a liar myself when it comes right down 
to the boss bus'nis, but the deakin c'n give me both 
bowers ev'ry hand. He done it so slick that I had 
to laugh when I came to think it over. ... I got 
rid o' the thing fer what it was wuth fer hide an' 
taller, an' 'stid of squealin' 'round the way you say 
he's doin', like a stuck pig, I kep' my tongue be- 
tween my teeth an' laid to git even some time." 



The deacon's squealing was the result of David's 
success in getting even, which was in this wise : David 
was fleeced a second time, in buying a handsome horse 
from some strangers, who warranted him " sound and 
kind, an' '11 stand without bitchin', an' a lady c'n 
drive him's well's a man." 

That he would stand without hitching David soon 
found to bis sorrow, for on his first drive the horse 
took a fancy to stand in the road, and did so with an 
obstinacy which no persuasion or severity could over- 
come. Handsome as he was, swift and sure-footed 
as he proved, he was a balker of the most extensive 
kind, and our horse-fancier in buying him had been 
severely sold. 

But David Harum was not the man to be balked 
by a balky horse. He quickly educated the animal 
in a fashion of his own. and the animal "got it into 
his head that if he didn't go when / wanted he 
couldn't go when he wanted, an' that didn't suit him." 
A touch with the whip on the shoulder was warning 
that he was wanted to go, and this touch was all that 
was needed to break up bis inclination to stop. Hav- 
ing got the horse in this frame of mind, David set 
out to get even with the deacon, showing ofi" the 
paces of the fine animal before that worthy horse- 
fancier so neatly that he was soon eager to possess 
the swift and handsome beast. 



IX THE CLOSING YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 



465 



To make a long story short, it will suffice to say 
that, after muL-li persuasion, David n7Hf/(/H/(y agreed 
to sell his new acquisition to the deacon fur a round 
sum, netting him a fair advance on his original in- 
vestment. The finale we may [rermit him to tell in 
his own language : 

■• Wa'al, the day but one after the deakin sold him- 
self Mr. Stiekin'-Plaster, 1 had an arrant three, four 
mile or so up past his place, an', when I was comin' 
back, along 'bout four or half-past, it come on to rain 
like all possessed. I had my old umbrel' — though it 
didn't bender me f'ui gettin' more or less wet — an' I 
sent the old mare along fer all she knew. As I come 
along to within a mile f'm the deakin's house, I seen 
somebody in the road, an' when I come up closter 
I see it was the deakin himself, in trouble, an' I kind 
0' slowed up to see what was goin' on. 

" There he was settin,' all humped up with his 
ole briiad-brim hat slopin' down his back, a-sheddin' 
water like a roof. Then I seen him lean over an' 
larrup the Jioss with the ends of the lines fer all he 
was wuth. It appeared he hadn't no whip, an' it 
wouldn't done him no good if he'd had. Wa'al, sir, 
rain or no rain, I jest pulled up to watch him. He'd 
larrup a spell, an' then he'd set back; an' then he'd 
lean over an' try it agin, barder'n ever. Scat my — ! 
I thought I'd die a-laughin'. I couldn't hardly cluck 
to the mare when I got ready to move on. I drove 
alongside an' pulled up. 

" ■ Hullo, deakin,' I says, ' what's the matter ? ' He 

looked up at me, an' I won't say he was the maddest 

man I ever see, but he was long ways the maddest- 

hol-iW man. and he shook his fi.st at me jest like one 

of the unregen'rit. ' Cousarn ye, Dave Harum ! ' 

he says, ' I'll hev the law on ye fer this.' ' What 

fer?' I says, ' I didn't make it come on to rain, did 

I ?' I says. ' You know mighty well what fer,' he 

.''ays. ' You sold me this damned beast,' he says, 'an' 

he's balked me nine times this afternoon, an' I'll fix 

ye for't,' he says. ' Wa'al, deakin,' I says, ' I'm 

"fraid the sfpiLre's office'll be shut up 'fore you ffit 

there, but I'll take any word you'd like to send. You 

know I told you,' I says, ' that he'd stand 'ithout 

hitohin',' An' at that he only jest kind 0' choked 

an' spluttered. He was so mad he couldn't say noth- 

in', an' on I drove, an' when I got about forty rcsd or so 

I looked back, an" there was the deakin a-comin' 
.-,0 



along the road with as much of his shoulders as he 
could git under his hat an' leadin his new boss. 
He, he, he, he ! Oh, my stars and garters ! Say, 
Polly, it paid me fer bein' born into this vale 0' teai-s. 
It did, I declare fer't ! 

" Aunt Polly wiped her eyes on her apron. 

" ' But, Dave,' she said, ' did the deakin really say 
— that word ? ' 

" ' Waal,' he replied, ' if't want that, it was the 
puttiest imitation ov't that ever I heard." " 

Such is a good illustrative example of " David 
Harum," The story itself amounts to little — with 
the exception of a prettily told and very pathetic 
narrative of a Christmas feast — but the all-pervading 
fun amply atones for any deficiencies in the plot. It 
is to be hoped the reader will forgive us for a second 
extract, detailing an episode during a visit David 
made to a wealthy and fashionable friend at New- 
port, Utterly ignorant of the ways of the society in 
which he now found himself, he waited in his room 
till half-pa§t nine in the morning, expecting momen- 
tarily to hear the breakfast-bell, 

'■ Bum-by the' came a knock at the door, an' I 
says, 'come in,' an' in come one 0' them fellers. ' Beg 
pah'din, sir,' he says, ' did you ring, sir ? ' 

"'No,' I says, 'I didn't ring. I was waitin' to 
hear the bell,' 

" ' Thank you, sir,' he says. ' An' will you have 
your breakfast now, sir '? ' 

"'Where?' I says. 

" ' Oh,' he says, kind 0' grinnin', ' I'll bring it up 
here, sir, d'rec'ly,' he says, an' went off. 

" Putty soon come another knock, an' in come the 
feller with a silver tray covered with a big napkin, an' 
on it was a couple of rolls wrapped up in a napkin, a 
b'iled egg done up in another napkin, a cup an' saucer, 
a little chiney coffee-]iot. a little pitcher of cream, 
some loaf sugar in a silver dish, a little pancake of 
butter, a silver knife, two little spoons like what the 
children play with, a silver pepper-duster an' salt 
dish, an' an orange. Oh, yes, the' was another con- 
traption — a sort of chiney wineglass. The feller set 
the tray down, an' says, ' Anythin' else you'd like to 
have, sir ? ' 

" ' No,' I says, lookin' it over, ' I guess there's 
enough to last me a day or two,' an' with that he 
kind o' turned bis face away fer a second or two. 



466 



AMERICAN LITEKATUEE 



' Thank you, sir,' he says. ' The second breakftist 
is at half-past twelve, sir,' an' out he put. 

" Wa'al, the bread an' butter was all right enough, 
exceptin' they'd fergot the salt iu the butter, an' the 
coffee was all right ; but when it come to the egg, 
dum'd if I wa'nt putty nigh out of the race ; but I 
made up my mind it must be hard boiled, an' tackled 
it on that idee. 

" Wa'al, sir. that dum'd egg was about's near raw 



as it was when i' was laid, an' the' was a crack in the 
shell, an' fust thing I knowed it kind o' e'lapsed. an' 
I give it a grab, an' it squirted all over my pants, an' 
the floor, an' on my coat an' vest, an' up my sleeve, 
an' all over the tray. Scat my — ! I looked gen'ally 
like an ab'lition orator before the war. You never 
see such a mess. I believe that dum'd egg held 
more'n a pint." 



THE ROMANCE OF SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS. 




E have named only a few of the noveUsts 
whom the later years of the nineteenth 
century brought into public notice. Those 
dealiii" more particularly with life and society in the 
several parts of our varied nationality are very nu- 
merous, and we must confine ourselves to the names 
and works of a few of the more prominent. New 
England is very well represented by Mary E. Wilkins, 
with " A New England Nun," '• Pembroke," and 
other characteristic stories, and life in Kentucky has 
never been better told than in James Lane Allen's 
" Choir Invisible" and "Reign of Law." Booth 
Tarkington, in his " A Gentleman from Indiana," 
vividly portrays certain conditions of life in that 
State ; Paul Leicester Ford's " The Honorable Peter 
Stirling" is a striking picture of political life and ways 
in New York, and Pialph Connor takes us into the 
lumber camps of Canada with his temperance tales of 
" Black Rock " and " Sky Pilot." Charies M. Shel- 
don's " In His Steps, or ^Yhat Jesus AVould Do," is 
a religious story of remarkable popularity — said to 
have reached nearly 3,000,000 circulation. Of 
other novels that have attracted much attention are 
Frances H. Burnett's •• In Connection with the De- 



Willoughby Claim," Harold Frederick's " The Market- 
Place," Hopkinson Smith's " Caleb West, Master 
Diver," Stephen Crane's " The Red Badge of Cour- 
age," HamUn Garland's " The Eagle's Heart," Ger- 
trude Atherton's " Senator North," John U. Lloyd's 
'■ Stringtown on the Pike," Charles F. Goss's " The 
Redemption of David Corson," and Francis M. Craw- 
ford's " In the Palace of the King." 

As readers of present-day fiction scarcely need be 
told, it is an interminable road upon which we have 
here entered. The above-named are a few only of 
the novels that won considerable popularity during 
the few closing years of the century, and to which many 
more would need to be added if we should extend 
our view a number of years farther back. If we 
should add those, some of them perhaps of equal 
merit, that have been read only by the few, our fist 
would grow to an unwieldy length. We are, in short, 
in the heyday of the novel, and it is becoming quite 
impossible to keep pace with the tales of fictitious 
life that are flowing daily from the press, until it 
seems almost as if the novel were a new intoxicant 
and our people were falling into a state of perma- 
nent mental inebriation. 



HIDIOKOUS AUTHORS. 



jlN the field of humorous literature the United 
States did not lose its well-earned eminence 
in the later years of the century. The in- 
imitable Mark Twain added several works to his 
abundant library of fun. among them " Puddin'head 
Wilson" and "The Man Who Corrupted Hadley- 




burg;" Joel Chandler, the inimitable recorder or 
inventor of negro folk-lore, added to his works " Mr. 
Rabbit at Home," " Little Mr. Thimblefinger," and 
other amusing juveniles. Robert J. Burdette came 
again into the field of fun with " Chimes from a 
Jester's Bells ;" and among new aspirants for the 



IN THE CLOSING YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 



467 



I crown uf liumor the rare Mr. Douley gave us in the 

' richest brogue bis views on war and politics, with 

episodes on things in general. Another high-priest 

■ of fun, John KenJrick Bangs, who for years lias 
' been tossing off quaint and amusing conceptions, has 
' added to the list '• Mr. Bonaparte, of Corsica," " A 
I House-Boat on the Styx," " Ghosts I Have Met," 
i "The Enchanted Typewriter,'' and various other 

comicalities. 

Shall we quote from Sir. Bangs's " Peeps at Peo- 
ple " a brief extract from Miss Witherup's interview 
of the Emperor William II. ? The lady interviewer 
had been commanded to appear at the Potsdam 
Palace at twenty minutes after eleven, at which hour 
I ths emperor would be on private exhibition. 

•• I was there on the stroke of the hour, and fnuiul 
his Imperial Highness sitting on a small gilt throne 

■ s.irrounded by mirrors, having his tintype taken. 

■ This is one of the emperor's daily duties, and one 
which he has never neglected from the day of his 
birth. lie has a complete set of these tintypes ranged 
about the walls of his private sanctum in the form of 
a frieze, and he frequently spends hours at a time 

I seated on a step-ladder examining himself as he looked 
I on certain days in the past. 

; •' He smiled affably as the Grand High Chamber- 
lain announced ' The Princess of Harlem Heights,' 
- and on my entrance threw me one of his imperial 

gloves to shake. 
I " ' Hoch ! ' he cried as he did so. 

" ' Ditto hie,' I answered, with my most charming 
' smile. 

'' ' Are you in Berlin for long ? ' 
•' ' Only till next Thursday, sire,' I repUed. 
" ' Wliat a pity ! ' he commented, rising from the 
throne and stroking his mustache before one of the 
mirrors. ' What a tremendous pity ! We should 
have been pleased to have had you with us longer.' 
" ' Emperor,' said I, ' this is no time for vain com- 
pliments, however pleasing to me they may be. Let 



us get down to business. Let us talk about the great 
problems of the day.' 

" ■ As you will. Princess,' he replied. ' To begi" 
with, we were born — ' 

" ' Pardon me, sire,' I interrupted. ' But 1 know 
all about your history.' 

" ' They study us in your schools, do they ? Ah, 
well, they do rightly,' said the emperor, with a wink 
of satisfaction at himself in the glass. ' They indeed do 
rightly to study us. When one considers what we are 
the result of! Far back, Princess, in the days of 
Thor, the original plans for William the Second were 
made. This person, whom we have the distinguished 
and sacred honor to be, was contemplated in the days 
when chaos ruled. Gods have dreamed of him ; god- 
desses have sighed for him ; epochs have shed bitter 
tears because he was not yet ; and finally he is here, 
in us — incarnate sublimity that we are ! ' 

" The emperor thumped his chest proudly as he 
spoke, until the gold on his uniform fairly rang. 

" ' Are we — ah — are we appreciated in America ?' 
he asked. 

'• ' To the full, Emperor — to the full ! ' I replied, 
instantly. ' I do not know of any country on the face 
of this green earth where you are quoted more often 
at your full value than with us.' . . . 

" ' Madame — or rather Princess,' he said, ecstati- 
cally, 'you could ndt have praised us more highly.' 

'■ He touched an electric button as he spoke, and 
instantly a Buttons appeared. 

" ' The iron cross ! ' he cried. 

" ' Not for me — oh, sire — not for me ! ' said I, al- 
most swooning with joy. 

'"No, Princess, not for you,' said the emperor; 
' for ourself. We shall give you one of the buttons 
off our imperial coat. It is our habit every morning 
at this hour to decorate our imperial self, and we have 
rung for the usual thing just as you Americans would 
rins for a Manhattan cocktail.' " 



RECENT AMERICAN HISTORIANS. 

N popular literature history, perhaps, stands next to fiction, and in this field 
of authorship the writers' of America have won a large meed of fame. It 
.= will suffice to give the names of Bancroft, Prescott, Motley, Parkman, 
Fiske and McMaster, to indicate that we possess a group of historians not sur- 




468 



KECEXT AMERICAN HISTORIAXS. 



passed in careful research and able handling of dieir subjects by the renowned 
historians of Europe. To them may be added a considerable number of others, 
more recent in date, but in various respects their equals in ability, who have 
adorned the later years of the century with works marked by grace of style, charm 
of subject and richness of information. 

Two of those above named are still actively at work, McMaster remaining 
engaged on his superb " History of the People of the United States," whose popu- 
larity remains undiminished, while John Fiske is issuing detached segments of 
•United States history, probably to be combined eventually into a single well-rounded 
work. In this way he has treated of late years colonial New England, New York 
and Pennsylvania, and more recently " Old Virginia and her Neighbors." Of 
others of the older circle of historians may be named John Foster Kirk, who sup- 
plemented Motley's contributions to the history of the Netherlands with an ably 
written history of the famous Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, and Hubert 
Howe Bancroft, whose voluminous series of histories of the Pacific coast, prepared 
with the aid of a staff of skilled collaborators, has reached the impressive total of 
tliirty-nine volumes. 

Among the later aspirants to fame as writers of United States history stands 
Edward Eggleston, who long since won a prominent place as a novelist, especially 
with his amusing transcript of Western ways, " The Hoosier Schoolmaster." 
He is now emulating John Fiske in writing United States history in detachments, 
of which have been published " The Beginners of a Nation " and " The Transit ol 
Civilization from England to America in the Seventeenth Century," these being 
probably the advance guards of a closely related series of histories. 

Henry Charles Lea, a Philadelphian of distinguished literary ancestry, has had 
the good fortune to find an unoccupied field of histor}', which he has filled with 
conspicuous ability with his " History of the Inquisition in the Middle Ages," 
" Historical Sketch of Sacerdotal Celibacy," " Superstition and Force," and various 
other valuable rescripts from the religious history of Europe, works whose fame h 
by no means confined to America, but which have won a wide circle of Europear 
readers. Another American author, who has similarly opened a new historical pro- 
vince, and has won the plaudits of Europe and America alike, is Alfred T. Mahan 
a retired captain of the United States Navy, whose " Influence of Sea Power upor 
History" came as a surprise to the world in its convincing picture of the grea 
part played by the navies of the nations in human history. This work has beer 
followed by "Influence of Sea Power upon the French Revolution and Empire,' 
" The Interest of the United States in Sea Power," and other works on naval history 

Other historical productions amply worthy of mention are F. E. Watson'.' 
"The Story of France," which has all the vivacity of a romance, and is voluminou; 
and brilliant in its treatment of the reign of Louis X\l. and the revolution; anc 
F. Marion Crawford's " Rulers of the South," which embraces a history of Sicih 
and the neighboring regions. The recent wars have given rise to a series o 
interesting historical works, including Henry Cabot Lodge's "Our War wid 
Spain," Charles Morris's "The War with Spain" and "Our Nation's Navy," anc 
various others relating to the Spanish-America-n war, the British-Boer conflict, th< 
Philippine insurrection and the Boxer outbreak in China. 



RECENT AMERICAN HISTORIANS. 
DEATH OF CHARLES THE BOLD. 



469 




F any of our readers are in love with 
spriglitly description and exciting incident 
in historical narrative, thej' could not serve 
theiuselves better than by reading Kirk's " History 
of Charles the Bold,' Duke of Burgundy, one of the 
most headlong warriors of the mcdianal period. His 
interesrins relations with that astute politician, Louis 
XL of France, so rouiantieally given in Sir Walter 
Scott's " Quentin Durward," are ably told here, while 
among the most interesting parts of the work is the 
description of the invasion of Switzerland by the 
reckless duke, and his two terrible defeats, the last of 
wtich ended in his death on the field of battle. We 
mav describe in the words of the author the terrible 
closing scene in the life of the impetuous ruler and 
soldier. 

The battle of Nancy was preceded by a blinding 
storm, which passed away leaving the invading army 
une.xpectedly in the face of a large force of Swiss 
infantry, posted advantageously on a hUl. Three re- 
sounding blasts of the Swiss horn were followed by a 
determined charge of the mountaineers, who quickly 
swept away the cavalry forming the wings of the 
opposing army and attacked the main body furiously 
on both its flanks.' Charles saw that the battle was 
lost. He had before him the alternatives of a dis- 
graceful flight or an almost hopeless struggle for life 
itself He chose the latter. 

" As he fastened his helmet the gulden lion on 
the crest became detached and fell to the ground. 
He forl)ade it to be replaced. Hoc est sifjnuin Dei — 
' It is a sign from God ' — he said. From God ! Ah, 
yes, he knew now the hand that was laid upon him ! 

" Leading his troups. he filunged into the midst of 
his foes, now closing in on all sides. Among enemies 
and friends the recollection of his surpassing valor in 
that hour of perdition, after the last gleam of hope 
had vanished, was long preserved. Old men of 
Franehe Comte were accu-stomed to tell how their 
fathers, tenants and followers of the Sire de Ceitey, 
had seen the duke, his face streaming with blood, 
charging and re-charging ' like a lion.' ever in the 
thick of the combat, bringing help where the need 
was greatest. . . . 

'• But, so encaged, so overmatched, what courage 
could have availed '? ' The foot stood long and man- 



fully,' is the testimony of an eye-witness. But the 
final struggle, though obstinate, was short. Br(]ken 
and dispersed, the men had no recourse but flight. 
Some went eastward, in the direction of Essey, such 
as gained the river crossing where the ice bore, and 
breaking it behind them. The greater number kept 
to the west of Nancy, to gain the road to Conde and 
Luxembourg. Charles, with the handful that still i 
remained about liim, followed in the same direction. 
The mass, both of fugitives and pursuers, was already 
far ahead. There was no choice now. Flight, com- 
bat, death — it was all one. 

'• Closing up, the little band of nobles, last relic of 
chivalry, charged into the centre of a body of foot 
Charles's page, a Roman of the ancient family of 
Colonna, rode a little behind, a gilt helmet hanging 
from his saddle-bow. He kept hi,« eye upon his mas- 
ter, saw him at the edge of a ditch, saw his horse 
stumble, the rider fall. The next moment Colonna 
was himself dismounted and made prisoner by men 
who, it would a]ipear, had belonged to the troop of 
Campobasso. 

" None knew who had fallen or lingered to see. 
The rout swept along, the carnage had no pause. 
The course was strewn with arms, banners and the 
bodies of the slain. Riderless horses plunged among 
the ranks of the victors and the vanquished. There 
was a road turning directly westward ; but it went to 
Toul : French lances were there. Northward the valley 
contracted. On one side was the forest, on the other 
the river ; ahead, the bridge of Boxieres — guarded, 
barred by Campobasso. Arrived there, all was over. 
A few turned aside into the forest, to be hunted still, 
to be butchered by the peasantry, to perish of hunger 
or cold. Others leaped into the river, shot at by the 
arquebusiers, driven back or stabbed by the traitors 
on the opposite bank, swept by the current under- 
neath the ice. The slaughter here was far greater 
than on the field. No quarter was given by the 
Swiss . . . INIerciful night came down, enabling a 
scanty remnant to escape." 

What had become of Duke Charles'? Was he 
still alive? If so, there was no hope that the war 
was at an end. He was diligently searched for, with 
the aid of several who knew him well, his page lead- 
ing to where he had last seen him, passing hundreds 



47° 



EECENT AMERICAN HISTOEIANS. 



of dead, and coming to the ditch where Charles had 
fallen, and where lay a thick group of slain nobles. 

" These are on the edge of the ditch. At the 
bottom lies another body — ' short, but thick-set, and 
well-membered ' — in worse plight than all the rest ; 
stripped naked, horribly mangled, the cheek eaten 
away by wolves or famished dogs. Can this be he ? 

" They stoop and examine. The nails, never pared, 
are ' longer than any other man's.' Two teeth are 
gone — through a fall years ago. There are other 
marks — a fistula in the groin, in the neck a scar left 
by the sword-thrust received at Montlhery. The 
men turn pale, the woman shrieks and throws her- 
self on the body, ' Sly lord of Burgundy ! My lord 
of Burgundy !' Yes, this is he — the ' Great Duke,' 
the destroyer of Liege, the ' Terror of France !' 

" They strive to raise it. The flesh, embedded in 
the ice, is rent by the efiFurt. Help is sent for. Four 
of llene's nobles come, men with implements, clothes 
and bier ; women have sent their veils. It is lifted 
and borne into the town. . . . washed with wine and 
warm water, again examined. There are three pain- 
ful wounds. A halberd, entering at the side of the 
head, has cloven it from above the ear to the teeth. 
Both sides have been pierced by a spear. Another 
has been thrust into the bowels from below. . . . 

" Bid his brothers, his captive nobles, his surviv- 
ing servants, come and see if this be indeed their 
prince. They assemble around him. kneel and veep, 
take his hands, his feet, and press them to their lips 
and breasts. He was their sovereign, their ' good 
lord,' the chief of a glorious house, the last, the 
greatest of his line." 



THE MONA-RCHS OF THE SEAS. 




OMINCr down from the past to the present, 
we iind in Morris's '■ The Nation's Navy " 
a contrast between the rulers of the waves 
in former and recent times, which may be read with 
some interest. 

" One of the most marked changes in the aspect 
of shiiis is the disappearance of the sail as an agent 
to propel the vessel through the waves. Steam has 
succeeded the wind as the moving agent in naviga- 
tion, and instead of adding sail after sail, as in the 
past, until the vessel is almost lost to view beneath 



her vast spread of canvas, modern shipbuilders add 
horse-power after horse-power, with the eifect of 
forcing their vessels through the water at a speed un- 
dreamed of in the past, and enabling the ship-masters 
of to-day to laugh at storm and calm and drive on- 
ward resistlessly in the teeth of a howling gale. 

'■ The advantage in speed has been gained at a 
serious loss in picturesque efl'cct. A full rigged ship 
of the past, gliding gracefully onward with swelling 
sails and bowing masts, was a thing of beaut}', a 
poem in motion, a white-winged bird of the waters 
whose floating grace inspired admiratinn in all be- 
holders, until words became weak to express men's 
delight in the charm of the floating ocean swan. 

" From the modern warship all poetry has been 
stripped away. It is mighty, but not beautiful. The 
featliery grace of the ship under sail has been re- 
j>laced by the grim lines of strength and massiveness. 
It Ls force in motion that we see in the great modem 
steamvessel, not floating beauty, and the poems now 
written in praise of the battleship Sjieak of it as a 
grim instrument of destruction, instead of a floating 
palace of beauty whose mission is masked by its grace. 

" The sail was yielded reluctantly. It was still of 
some use as a coal-saver, and continued to be spread 
to the winds, even while the strong engine was puls- 
ing and revolving below. But as the demand for 
speed grew more vital coal won the battle over the 
wind, and the sail gradually passed away. ... As for ) 
the long rows of port-holes in an old-time battleship, 
each with its black, threatening muzzle, they have 
gone to return no more. The system of old was to 
plant as many guns in a ship as she could stagger , 
under, with the hope of overwhelming an antagonist | 
with the hail of iron balls hurled from her whole 
broadside in a devastating mass. A few great guns 
borne aloft in a steel-clad turret have replaced the 
grinning rows of the great two- and three-deckers of 
the jiast, while a number of smaller guns, jilaced here 
and there, rain forth their instruments of death with 
such force and fury that the greatest ship-of-the-line 
of Nelson's fleet, if placed within their range, would 
have been rent into splinters almost before it could 
bring its broadside to bear. 

" The ' wooden walls ' of the past are no more. 
The iron citadel now holds the lordship of the seas. 
Steel has taken the place of wood, the rifled gun has 
sent to the waste-heap the old-time smooth-bore, the 



BIOGRAPHICAL KEMINISCENCES. 



471 



breech-loader has relegated the muzzle-loader to an- 
tiquity, the quick-firing- t>un of the ]iresent has made 
obsolete the proudest cannon of the past, and modern 
naval warfare has made so vast a change that it is 
difficidt to reahze that the knell of the old system 
was first rung by the guns of the Monitor and the 
Merrimac little more than a (juarter of a century ago. 
" Fortunately for our sense of beauty, the high 
mast and swelling sail have not entirely vanished 
from view. AVar has no use for them, but peace 
finds thorn useful still. The great ' hners ' of the 
passenger service have no time for the vagaries and 
the deliberation of the wind, but the merchant ser- 
vice is not always in such headlong haste, and we 
may still see, floating up our rivers and gliding into 
our harbors, graceful representatives of the ship of 
the [last, which was seen everywhere before the inor- 
dinate demon of the furnace had robbed the winds of 
their olden task." 



BIOGRAPHICAL AND LITERARY REM- 
INISCENCES. 
HE writers of biography have been no less 
active in the recent period than those of 
history, and the eminent statesmen, soldiers 




and men of letters of the young republic have been 
dealt with in numerous attractive volumes. In ad- 
dition we possess " The True George Washington "' 
and " The Blany-sided Franklin," by Paid Leicester 
Ford, works in which these great men are depicted 
as they were, their foibles exposed while their great- 
ness is made evident. A work of the same analytic 
character is Ida 31. Tarbell's " Early Life of Abraham 
Lincoln," filled with new information about the noble 
pilot who held the helm of the ship of State during 
the frightful storm of the Civil War. Theodore 
Roosevelt, our first Vice-President in the twentieth 
century, and the author of various works of history, 
hunting adventure, etc., and of biographies of Benton 
and Gouverneur Morris, has added to the list a 
sketch of the life of Oliver Cromwell, which throws 
new light on the career and character of that most 
famous of old-time revolutionists. 

Literary biography has also been very ably handled 
in a variety of works, prominent among which are 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson's " Contemporaries," 



Edward Everett Hale"s " Lowell and his Friends," 
and William Dean Howell's " My Literary Friends 
and Acquaintances," works replete with genial de. 
scription and interesting anecdote, opening to us the 
sanctums of many men of fame whom we have 
known only through their books, and revealing them 
in their personal life and methods of conversation, 
their tricks of habit and faults and nobilities of char- 
acter. We should also mention works on Shake- 
speare by Hamilton Blabie and (loldwin Smith, and 
various other contributions to this domain of litera- 
ture. 

In addition to human biography, what may be 
entitled animal biogiaphy has received considerable 
attention, especially by Charles G. D. Roberts, a 
skilled Canadian poet, historian and novelist, whose" 
•■ In the Heart of the Ancient Wood " is largely a 
biographical sketch of a famous old bear ; and Ernest 
Seton Thompson, of English birth, but long a dweller 
in the Canadian backwoods and the western plains of 
the LTnited States, who has won high fame by his 
picturesque " Wild Animals I have Known " and his 
more recent " Biography of a Grizzly." From the 
former work, which tells the stories of wonderful 
wolves, cows, rabbits, foxes, mustangs and dogs, a 
brief episode from the career of Bingo, the author's 
favorite canine friend, seems worthy of being placed 
on record. 



BINGO AND THE COW. 
TNGO was the son of a collie of wonderful 
wolf-killing prowess, a native of the plains 
of Manitoba. Mr. Thompson, failing to 




purchase this animal from its owner, who refused to 
sell him at any price, had to content himself with one 
of his children. "A roly-poly ball of black fur that 
looked more like a long-tailed bear-cub than a puppy," 
to which he gave the name of Bingo. 

" The rest of that winter Bingo spent in our shanty, 
living the life of a lubberly, fit, well-meaning, ill- 
doing puppv ; g(]rgiug himself with food and growing 
bigger and clumsier each day. Even sad experience 
failed to teach him that he must keep his nose out of 
the rat-trap. His most friendly overtures to the cat 
were wholly misunderstood, and resulted only in an 
armed neutralitv that, varied bv occasional reigns of 



4/2 



POLITICAL AND SOCIAL ECONOMY. 



terror, continued to the end ; which came when 
Bingo, who early showed a mind of his own, got a 
notion for sleeping at the barn and avoiding the 
shanty altogether. 

" When the spiing came I set about his serious 
education. After much pains on my behalf and 
many paius on his, he learned to go at the word in 
quest of our old yellow cow, that pastured at will on 
the unfenced prairie. 

" Once he had learned his business, he became very 
fond of it, and nothing pleased him more than an 
order to go and fetch the cow. Away he would dash, 
barking with pleasure and leaping high in the air, 
that he might better scan the plain for his victim. 
In a short time he woidd return, driving her at full 
gallop before him, and gave her no peace until, puiT- 
ing and blowing, she was safely driven into the 
farthest corner of her stable. 

" Less energy on his part would have been more 
satisfactory, but we bore with him until he grew so 
fond of this semi-daily hunt that he began to bring 
' old Dunne ' without being told. And at length not 
once or twice, but a dozen times a day, this energetic 
cowherd would sally forth on his own respongibility 
and drive the cow home to the stable. 

" At last things came to such a pass that whenever 
he felt like taking a little exercise, or had a few 
minutes of sjiare time, or even happened to think of 
it. Bingo would sally forth at racing speed over the 
plain, and a few minutes later return, driving the 
unhappy yellitw cow at full gallop before him. 

" At first this did not seem very bad, as it kept the 
cow from straying too far ; but soon it was seen that 
it hindered her feeding. She became thin and gave less 
milk ; it seemed to weigh on her mind, too, as she 
was always watching nervously for that hateful dog, 
and in the mornings would hang round the stable as 
though afraid to wander off and subject herself at 
once to an onset. 

" This was going too far. All attempts to make 
Bingo more moderate in his pleasure were failures, so 
he was compelled to give it up altogether. After 
this, though he dared not bring her home, he con- 
tinued tti show his interest by lying at her stable 
door while she was being milked. 

" As the summer came on the mosquitoes became 
a dreadful plague, and the consequent vicious switch- 



ing of Dunne's tail at milking-time even more annoy- 
ing than the mosquitoes. Fred, the brother who did 
the milking, was cjf an inventive as well as an impa- 
tient tui'n of mind, and he devised a simple plan to 
stop the switching. He fastened a brick to the cow's 
tail, then set blithely about his work assured of un- 
usual comfort, while the rest of us looked on in doubt. 

" Suddenly through the mist of mosquitoes cnme 
a dull whack and an outburst of ' language.' The 
cow went on placidly chewing till Fred got on his 
feet and furiously attacked her with the milking 
stool. It was bad enough to be whacked on the ear 
with a brick by a stupid old cow, but the uproarious 
enjoyment and ridicule of the bystanders made it 
unendurable. 

" Bingo, hearing the uproar, and divining that he 
was needed, rushed in and attacked Dunne on the 
other side. Before the affair quieted down the milk, 
was spilt, the pail and stool were broken, and the cow 
and dog severely beaten. 

" Poor Bingo could not understand it all. He had 
long ago learned to despise that cow. and now in utter 
disgust he decided to forsake even her stable door, 
and from that time lie attached himself e.w.lusively 
to the horses and their stable." 



POLITICAL AND SOCIAL ECONOMY. 
HE condition of affairs in the industrial, the 
political and the social world at the close 
of the nineteenth century seems to have 




strongly attracted the attention of authors, and 
numerous works on what are technically entitled 
'■ economics " were added to the literature of the 
world. The new and comprehensive business com- 
binations known as " trusts" were treated by Richard 
T. Ely in " Monopolies and Trusts." Ho also pub- 
lished works on Socialism, taxation and similar sub- 
jects. Andrew Carnegie, the great magnate of the 
iron industrv. dealt with a subject wi.h which he mu.st 
be unusually familiar in his '• Gospel of Wealth." 
David A. Wells deftly handled " The Theory and 
Practice of Taxation ;" Franklin H. Giddings, author 
of several works on Sociology, added to them an in- 
telligent treatment of " Democracy and Empire ;" 
and Nicholas P. Gilman dealt wi:h the industrial 



I 



POLITICAL AND SOCIAL ECONOMY. 



473 



problem of '' Profit-sharing between Employer and 
Employees." 'J'hese are a few only of the numerous 
books uf recent issue on economical subjects. The 
trust has called forth volumes from a number of 
authors, and works have been written on capitalism, 
wanes, distribution of wealth, history of money, and 
various other topics of this character. 

In this connection we beg leave to go back a few 
years, and bring into our list of recent economical works 
the most famous and widely read of them all, Henry 
George's " Progress and Poverty," a work which saw 
the light in 1879, and produced in many minds a 
revolution of thought, while its theory of taxation is 
still kept actively alive by a small but enthusiastic 
body of disciples. This being the case, it seems de- 
sirable to let the author state for us the elements of 
his famous theory. 



THE SINGLE TAX THEORY. 

HE elder Jlirabeau, we are told, ranked the 
proposition of Quesnay, to substitute one 
sinale tax on rent for all other taxes, as a 




discovery equal in utility to the invention of writing 
or the substitution of the use of money for barter. . . . 

" Con.sider the effect upon the jiroduction of wealth. 

" To abolish the taxation which, acting and react- 
inir. niiw hampers every wheel of exchange and 
presses upon every form of industry, would be like 
removing an immense weight from a powerful spring. 
Imbued with fresh energy, production would start 
into new life, and trade would receive a stimulus 
which would be felt to the remotest arteries. The 
present mode of taxation operates upon exchange 
like artificial deserts and mountains ; it costs more to 
get goods through a custom house than it does to 
carry them around the world. It operates upon 
energy, and industry, and skill, and thrift, like a fine 
upon those qualities. ... If a man build a ship, we 
make him pay for his temerity as though he had done 
an injury to the State ; if a railroad be opened, down 
Comes the tax collector upon it, as though it were a 
public nuisance ; if a manufactory be erected, we lay 
upon it an annual sum which would go far towards 
making a handsome profit. . . . We punish with a 
tax the man who covers barren fields with ripening 
grain ; we fine him who puts up machinery, and him 



who drains a swamp. ... To abolish these taxes 
would be to Uft the whole enormous burden of taxa- 
tion from productive industry. . . . All would be 
free to make or to save, to buy or to sell, unfined by 
taxes, unannoyed by the tax-gatherer." 

But how in such a case are governments to be ad- 
ministered, and the financial aid needed alike in peace 
and war acquired? Our author answers this by sug- 
gesting a single tax, laid on the value of land — not 
on its products or on the industry of the agriculturist. 

" Under this system no one would care to hold 
land unless to use it, and land now withheld from use 
would everywhere be thrown open to improvement. 
The selling price of land would fall ; land speculation 
would receive its death-blow ; land monopolization 
would no longer pay. Millions upon millions of acres 
from which settlers are now shut out by high prices 
would be abandoned by their present owners or sold 
to settlers on nominal terms. ... In densely popu- 
lated England would such a policy throw ojien to cul- 
tivation many hundreds of thousands of acres now 
held as private parks, deer-preserves and shooting- 
grounds. 

" For this simple device of placing all taxes on the 
value of land would be in efiect putting up the land 
at auction to whoever would pay the highest rent to 
the State. The demand for land fixes its value, and 
hence, if taxes were placed so as to very nearly con- 
sume that value, the man who wished to hold land 
without using it would have to pay very nearly what; 
it woidd be worth to any one who wanted to use it." 

In brief, all unused land, alike in cities and country, 
would be abandoned to the State as too costly a 
possession to hold, if taxed on its full market value, 
and would be open to any one who desired to use it 
productively. To hold it for speculative purposes 
alone would be like holding fire- with the hope it 
would not burn. In Henry George's view such a 
single system of taxation would yield the govern- 
ment abundant funds for all its needs. 

OTHER FIELDS OF BOOK LORE. 
HE literature of the T'nited States in the 
later years of the nineteenth century has 
been by no means confined to the fields of 
thought so far enumerated, but embraces besides 
many books on science, philosophy, theology, travel,. 





474 



OTHER FIELDS OF BOOK LORE. 



criticism, essays of varied character, and poetry often 
of high merit. In this counection may be named 
Edmund C. Stedman s valuable critical -n-orks on the 
poets of England and America, including his late 
American Anthology, the charming observations 
of nature by John Burroughs, j\Iary Treat and 
Charles C. Abbott, the racy essays of William 
jNIathews on literary and other topics, records of 
, Arctic travel by Robert E. Peary and other explorers, 
and, in short, a host of works on a great variety of 
subjects, very far too numerous to mention. It will 
doubtless be more agreeable to the reader if we ap- 
pend a few extracts from some of these works in 
place of giving a catalogue of their names. And as 
we have presented numerous examples of literary 
style, it may be of interest to quote from William 
Mathews his eloquent description of the charm of 
literary .style. 

THE CnAR:\I OF LITERARY STYLE. 

define the charm of style — to show why 
the .same thought when conveyed in one 

1 man's language is cold and commonplace, 
and when conveyed in another's is, as Starr King 
says, ' a rifle-shot or a revelation ' — is impossible. It 
is easy to see how a magnetic presence, an eagle eye. 
a commanding attitude, a telHng gesture, a siren 
voice, may give to truths when spoken a force or 
charm which they lack in a book. ' But how is it,' 
as the same writer says, ' that words locked up in 
forms, still and stiff in sentences, will contrive to tip 
a wink ; how a proposition will insinuate more skepti- 
cism than it states ; how a paragraph will drip with 
the honey of love ; how a phrase will trail an infinite 
suggestion ; how a page can be so serene or so gusty, 
so gorgeous or so pallid, so sultry or so cool, or to lap 
you in one intellectual climate or its opposte — who 
has fathomed this wonder ?' 

'' There is a mystery in stj-le of which we cannot 
pluck out the heart. Like that of beauty, music, or 
a delicious order, its spell is subtle and impalpable, 
and baffles all our attempts to explain it in words. 
Like that of fine' manners, it is indefinable, yet all- 
subduing, and is the issue of all the mental and 
moral qualities, bearing the same relation to them 
that light bears to the sun or perfume to the flower. 
Not even the writer himself can explain the secret of 



his art. In the works of all the great masters there 
are certain elements which are a mystery to them- 
selves. In the frenzy of creation thej- instinctively 
infuse into their productions that of which they 
would be utterly puzzled to give an account. By a 
subtle, mysterious gift, an intense intuition, which 
pierces beneath all surface-appearances and goes 
straight to the core of an object, they lay hold of the 
essential hfe, the inmost heart, of a scene, a person, 
or a situation, and paint it to us in a few immortal 
words. 

" A line, a phrase, a single btirning term or irradia- 
ting word, flashes the scene, the character, upon us, 
and it lives forever in the memory. It is so in sculp- 
ture, in painting, and even in the military art. When 
Napoleon was asked by a flatterer of his generalship 
how he won his military victories, he could only say 
that he vcasfait comme ca (made that way)." 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 
'MONG our high-priests of nature John Bur- 
roughs occupies a pirominent position, and 
his '■ Wake, Robin," '■ Winter Sunshine," 
Locusts and Wild Honey," 




" Birds and Poets." 
and other works of poetic observation, are fuU of the 
intangible charm of the woods and fields. Let us 
offer a brief extract from what his trained eyes saw 
in a bit of old hemlock woodland: 

" Most people receive with incredulity a statement 
of the number of birds that annually visit our climate. 
Very few even are aware of half the number that 
spend the summer in their own immediate vicinity. 
AVe little suspect, when we walk in the woods, whose 
privacy we are intruding on, what rare and elegant 
visitants from Mexico, from Central and South 
America, and from the islands of the sea. are hold- 
ing their reunions in the branches over our heads, or 
pursrdng their pleasure on the ground before us. 

" I recall the altogether admirable and shining 
family which Thoreau dreamed he saw in the upper 
chambers of Spaulding's woods, which Spaulding did 
not know lived there, and which were not put oul ^ 
when Spaidding, whistling, drove his team through 
their lower halls. They did not go into society in 
the village ; they were quite well ; they had sons and 
daughters ; they neither wove nor spun ; there was i 
sound as of suppressed hilarity. 



OTHER FIELDS OF BOOK LOKE. 



475 



'■ I take it for granted that the forester was only 
saving a pretty thing of the birds, though I have 
observed that it does sometimes annoy them when 
Spaiildiiig's eart rumbles through their house. Gen- 
erally, however, they are as unconscious of Spauld- 
ing as Sjiaulding is of them. 

•• Walking the other day in an old hemlock wood, I 
counted over forty varieties of these summer visitants, 
many nf them common to other woods in the vicinity, 
but f(uite a number peculiar to these ancient .solitudes. 
and not a few that are rare in any locaUty. It is 
quire unusual to find so large a number abiding in 
one forest — and that not a large one — most of them 
nesting and spending the summer here. . . . 

■■ The ancient hemlocks, whither I propose to take 
the reader, are rich in many things besides birds. 
Indeed, their wealth in this respect is owing mainlv, 
no doubt, to their rank vegetable growths, their fruit- 
ful swamps, and their dark, sheltered retreats. 

" Their history is of an heroic cast. Ravished 
and torn by the tanner in his thii-st for bark, preyed 
upon by the lumberman, assaulted and beaten back 
by the .settler, still their spirit has never been broken, 
their energies never paralyzed. Xot many years ago 
a public highway passed through them, but it was at 
no time a tiilerable road : trees fell across it, mud and 
limbs choked it up. till finally travelers took the hint 
and went around ; and now. walking along its deserted 
course. I see only the footprints of cows, foxes and 
squirrels. 

'• Nature loves such woods, and places her own 
seal upon them. Here she shows me what can be 
done with ferns and mosses and lichens. The soil is 
marrowy and full of innumerable forests. Standing 
in these fragrant aisles. I feel the strength of the 
vegetable kingdom, and am awed by the deep and 
inscrutable processes of life going on so silently about 
me. 

" No hostile forms with axe or spud now visit 
these solitudes. The cows have half-hidden ways 
through them, and know where the best browsing is 
to be had. In spring the farmer repairs to their 
bordering of maples to make sugar ; in July and 
August women and boys from all the country about 
penetrate the oM bark-peelings for raspberries and 
blackberries : and I know a youth who wanderingly 
follows their lansuid stream casting for trout. 



'' In like spirit, alert and buoyant, on this bright 
June morning go I also to reap my harvest — pursu- 
ing a sweet more delectable than sugar, fruit more 
savory than berries, and game for another palatd 
than that tickled by trout." 

THE HUMMING-BIRD AT HOME. 
EAA ING our philosopher of the hemlock 
in search of the bird tenants of his an- 
cient wood, we may visit with Mary Treat 




her garden depths, and observe with her eyes the 
nesting habits of one of its visitants, the tiny ruby- 
thmat. the only species of the brilliant family of 
humming-brids that ever deserts the tropics for our 
far North. 

•■ Burroughs, in his charming little book. ■ Wake. 
Robin," says it is an event in one s life to find a hum- 
ming- birds nest. The event happened to me with- 
out any efibrt on my part. Looking up from a seat 
in the grove. I saw the ruby-throat drop down on its 
nest, like a shining emerald from the clouds ; it did 
not pause upon the edge of the nest, but dropped 
immediately upon it. The nest was situated on an 
oak twig, and was about the size of a black walnut, 
and from where I sat it looked more like an excres- 
cence than a nest. It was situated in tlie fork of two 
twigs, and firmly glued at the base to the lower, but 
was not fastened to the upper twig. 

" I waited for the tiny occupant to leave the nest, 
and then with the aid of a step-ladder had no diffi- 
culty in looking into it. I found it contained two 
white eggs, about as large as medium-sized peas. 
Sometimes the male would drop upon the nest when 
the female left. I never disturbed them while they 
were sitting upon it. but often before I could get 
away. when. I thought them out of sight, the male 
would suddenly appear, and greater demonstrations of 
anger I never saw manifested by any bird. He 
would ruffle up his tiny feathers, and seem nearly 
twice as large, and dash almost into my face, making 
a squeaking noise — scolding and threatening until he 
had driven me quite a distance. 

'• He soon learned that I was very much afraid of 
him. so he turned tyrant, and often drove me from 
my seat in the grove when I had not been near his 
dwelling. I always submitted to the little lord, for 



476 



OTHER FIELDS OF BOOK LORE. 



what business had I to be prying into his domestic 
affairs ? When the young were hatched they were 
not larger than bumble-bees, but in a week they had 
flown. I cut the twig off, and found the nest was 
composed of the same soft, downy substance which I 
had noticed in the wood-pewee's nest, but it was 
meatted so closely together that it was almost as firm 
as the Softer kinds of felt ; it was a marvel of skill 
and beauty, and completely covered externally with 
lichens." 



THE PALACE OF DELIGHT. 
IQST of us have read General Lew Wallace's 
" Ben Hur," but few are aware that his 
wood lad3", Susan E. Wallace, is an author 




also, and one whose pen is dipped in rainbow hues. 
" The Storied Sea," from her hand, is the must glow- 
in" picture of the Mediterranean we have read, and 
her description of the harem of Prince Feramorz, 
which she had the privOege of visiting while in 
Constantinojile, reads hke a chapter from the "Ara- 
bian Nights " or a canto from Moore's " Lalla Rookh." 
The story of her visit is far too long for the space we 
can spare, but some of its most glowing examples of 
word-painting may be given : 

" By the bluest and clearest of seas there is a 
deep bay, where the navies of the world might ride at 
anchor. The sweeping curves of its shores are 
drawn as by an artist's hand, and from its margin 
rise terraced heights. Hke the hanging gardens of 
Babylon. Towards the west are hills with capes of 
olive green, from which the breeze blows deliciously 
cool in the hottest days. Away to the South tall, 
slim minarets point towards the glittering god of the 
ancient Persian, and dwarf the roitnded domes below 
by the ethereal grace of their tapering spires. Close 
to the water's edge stands a palace worthy the golden 
1 rime of Harvoum al Raschid, nobly built of white 
and jiink marble, the latter brought from Egypt. In 
the distance, under a sky that would be dazzling were 
it not so soft, it shines like a temple of alabaster and 
silver. 

"Its crowning glory is a central dome, rising in 
peerless beauty, like a globe of ice or of crystal, and 
seeming to hang in air. Mirrored in the glassy 
water, the plume-like pillars and slender turrets are a 



picture to make one in love with its builder. He 
had the soul of an artist who measured the span of 
its rhythmic arches and told the heights of its colon- 
nades, harmonious to the eye as choice music to the 
ear. He must have toiled years to embody in this 
result his study of the beautiful. The architect wag 
a Spaniard, and he had the same creative faculty 
(this man who worked in formless stone) that the poet 
has who brings his idea out of hidden depths, polishes 
his work with elaborate care, nor leaves it until every 
line is wrought to perfect finish. 

" Let us call this the Palace of Delight, for there 
dwells in the luxury and aroma of the farther East 
Nourmabal, the Light of the Harem, and we were 
invited to see her — the bulbal, the rose, the Pearl of 
the Orient, the bride of Prince Fei'amorz. . . . 

" The heaviest iron-clads might lie close to the 
quay where we landed. So pure is the water and so 
intensely clear that, at the depth of four fathoms, , 
fish swim and bright stones lie as though close be- 
neath the calm surface. Marble steps lead to the . 
water; and when our Utile boat neared them, two 
sentinels, moveless as statues, appeared, clad in the 
picturesi|ue costtime of the Tunisian kavasse, all gold 
embroidery and dazzUng color, even to the holsters of 
pistols and the sides of the long-topped boots. A 
wall, perhaps thirty feet high, made of rough stone, 
was broken by a gate of iron, hght as net-work, evi- 
dently of French construction. Its double valves 
flew open at our approach, and as cjuickly closed 
when we entered the garden." 

We must pass by the description of the beauty 
and brilliancy of the garden, and go on to the palace 
cage of the lovely sultana. 

" We could not loiter, for Nourmabal was waiting. 
From the entrance hall slave-girls emerged to meet 
us and drew up in lines, through which we passed. 
We crossed an outer court, open to the sky, with cool 
marble pavement, under an arched way, to a hall 
covered with India matting. Beyond was a spacious 
rotunda, a fountain dancing in the centre under the 
dome, which rested on pillars of lapis-lazuli. I 
counted eight fragile supporting columns of bright- 
blue veined with white. Overhead were traceries in 
blue and gold, pendent stalactites, the ' honey-comb 
ceilings ' of the Moorish kings ; the tents of the 
alhambra were in the inlaying of many colors, and 



AMONG THE POETS. 



477 



gilt, texts of the Koran on the walls. The builder 
had that most romantic of castles in heart and eye 
when he planned the Palace of Delight." 

Crossing this circular space, where birds of glowing 
wing swung in ivory cages or iiuttered in the bright 
waters of the fountain, the visitors entered through 
a costly drapery of Lahore shawls, the reception 
room (the "Abode of Felicity") of the harem's 
pride. It was a broad, cool room, furnished only 
with a silken divan amund the walls and Bachara and 
Khorassan rutts upon the mosaic floor. 

" At the farthest end, reclining on pillows of silk 
and lace, rested the lady we sought. One little foot, 
in red velvet slipper, was first seen below wide trousers 
of yell I w silk ; a loose robe of white silk, embroid- 
ered with gold thread, was partly covered by a 
sleeveless jacket of crimson, dotted with seed-pearl ; 
a broad, variegated sash wound the slender waist. 
Half concealing the arms was a light scarf, airy as the 
woven wind of the ancients. A head-band with 
diamond pendants fringed her forehead ; a riviere 
of diamonds circled the bare throat ; and here and 



there soUtary drops flashed in the braids of her night- 
black hair. 

'■ Among the billowy cushions and vaporous veilings 
rose the young face — oh, what a revelation of beauty ! 
— uplifted in a curious questioning way, to see what 
manner of women these were who came from the ends 
of the earth, with unveiled faces, and go about the world 
alone, and have to think for themselves — poor things! 
The expression was that of a lovely child waking 
from a summer slumber in the happiest humor, ready 
for play. A sensitive, exquisite face, fair as the first 
of women while the angel was \-et unfallen. A perfect 
oval, the lips a scarlet thread, and oh, those wonder- 
ful Asiatic eyes ! — lustrous, coal-black, long rather 
than round, beaming under the joined eyebrows of 
which the poet Hafiz sings. 

" Nourmabal did not rise, but held out one jewelled 
hand, dimpled as a baby's, with nails and finger-ends 
dyed pink with henna — five clustering rosebuds. 
The magic of beauty made us her subjects. We kissed 
the little fingers loyally, and yielded ourselves willing 
captives, ready to be dragged at her chariot-wheels." 




AMONG THE POETS. 

HE muse has not quite deserted these Western shores, despite the 
fact that the great masters of American poetry, Longfellow, Lowell, 
Whittier, Holmes, Emerson, and our other distinguished songsters, 
have passed onward and left us only their works in remembrance. 
This galaxy of bright stars has set, but in the literary heavens of 
our land other stars, of lesser lustre, are shining, some of which 
may yet glow with tlie dignity of stars of the first magnitude. We cannot venture 
to enumerate the multitude of these new aspirants to fame — "their name is 
legion " — nor to offer critical estimates of their poetical merit. The recent 
"American Anthology," by Edmund Clarence Stedman, gives us the names and 
choice selections from the works of very many of these minor songsters, most of 
whom yet await entrance into the temple of fame. We must content ourselves 
with naming a few of the more prominent of the songful band, and giving some 
examples of their skill in the fine art of verse-making. 

Among those who have been with us from a past date are Edmund Clar- 
ence Stedman, above named, who has recently re-entered the field with a collection 
of" Poems;" James Whitcomb Riley, with his humorous " Rubaiyat of Doc Sifers;" 



478 



AMONG THE POETS. 



the veteran Richard Henry Stoddard, who returns to us " Under the Evening 
Lamp;" Will Carleton, still rhyming in his old vein; Joaquin Miller, who offers us 
in these late days his "Songs of the Soul," and William Dean Howells, long 
famous as a novelist, but who began his career as a poet, and now gives us the fruit 
of his ripened age in " Stops of Various Quills." Eugene Field, the child's friend of 
later date, has passed away, leaving in remembrance his volume of " Songs and 
Other Verse," and among women poets of wide recognition may be named Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox, whose fingers have a far finer touch on the chords of poesy than 
critics seem disposed to credit her with. 

To this older circle of singers could readily be added a younger band of equal 
skill and power, of whom we must content ourselves with naming a few. Madison 
J. Cawein, a poet of fine touch, has recently given us his " Lyrics and Idyls," and 
Bliss Carman, a scion of Canada, his " Ballads of Lost Haven." The latter, in 
collaboration with Richard Hovey — whose late decease lovers of fine poetry cannot 
but mourn — has presented the world a charmine series of " Song-s from Vaea- 
bondia," further cultivating this field in " More Songs from Vagabondia." From 
our friends of African descent comes to us the skilled songster, Paul Lawrence 
Dunbar, with " Lyrics of Lowly Life," and other volumes of verse, in which he 
deftly handles the dialect of his race. The last name we shall select from the 
multitude is that of Edward Markham, whose "The Man with the Hoe" came to 
us a few years ago like a fresh breeze of verse from the Pacific slope, and for a 
time took the worked captive with its ringing denunciation of a deplorable phase of 
modern social relations. In addition to the poets of acknowledged standing, there 
are many writers of fugitive verse, often showing high skill and poetic sentiment. 
The recent warlike record of our country has called forth some of these passing 
contributions to the poet's corner, a few examples of which we append, the first 
being in honor of General Joseph Wheeler, a veteran of the Confederate cause in 
the Civil War, in which he won the sobriquet of " Little Fighting Joe." He added 
to his reputation by his valor at San Juan in the Spanish- American war — of which 
the poet sings: 




WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. 

XTO the thick of the fight he went, pallid 
and .«ic-k and wan. 
Borne in an ambulance to the front, a 
ghostly wisp of a man ; 
But the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in 

the long ago, 
Went to the front in that ambulance, and the body 
of Fighting Joe. 

Out from the front they were coming fast, smitten of 
Spanish shells — 

Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and the Ala- 
bama dells. 



" Put them into this ambulance ; I'll ride to the 

front, " he said. 
And he climbed to the saddle and rode right on. that 

little old es-Confed. 

From end to end of the long blue ranks rose up the 
ringing cheers. 

And many a powder-blackened face was furmwed 
with .sudden tears. 

As, with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair 
and beard of snow. 

Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fight- 
ing Joe. 

Sick with fever and racked with pain, he could not 
stay away, 



AMONG THE POETS. 



479 




For he heard the song of the yester-years in the deeji- 

moutlied cannon's bay — 
He heard in the calling song of the guns there was 
work for him to do, 
' Where his country's best blood splashed and flowed 

round the old Ked, White and Blue. 
I 
I Fevered body and hero heart ! This Union's heart 

to you 
' Beats out in love and reverence — and to each dear 
' bo}- in blue, 

Who stood or fell 'mid the shot and shell, and cheered 
I in the face of the foe, 

As. wan and white, to the heart of the fight rode 
little old Fighting Joe. 

James Lindsay Gordon. 



THE •• MEKRDIAC."- 

[The following verses commemm-ate Lieutenant Hobson's 
darin? deed at Santiago:] 

IHUNDER peal and roar and rattle of the 
ships in line of battle. 
Rumliling noise of steel volcanoes hurling 
metal from the shore. 
Drowned the sound of quiet speaking and the creak- 
ing, creaking, creaking 
Of the steering-gear that turned her toward the 
narrow harbor door. 

On the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for the shore- 
ward riot ; 
Dumbthey watched the fountains streaming ; mute 
they heard the waters hiss ; 
' Till one laughed and murmured, ■' Surely it was worth 
while rising earlv 
For a fireworks exhibition of such character as 
thi.s."' 

Down the channel the propeller drove her as they 
tried to shell her 
From the dizzy heights of Mnrro and Soeapa 
parapet ; 
She was torn and she was battered, and her upper 
works were shattered 
By the bursting of the missiles that in air above 
her met. 

Parallels of belching cannon marked the winding 
course she ran on. 
And they flashed through morning darkness like a 
giant's flaming teeth ; 
^\ater .steaming, boiling, churning; rows of muzzles 
at each turning ; 
Mines like geysers spouting after and before her 
and beneath. 



Not a man was there who faltered ; not a theory was 
altered 
Of the detailed plan agreed on ; not a doubt was 
there expressed ; 
This was not a time for changing, deviating, re- 
arranging ; 
Let the great God help the wounded, and their 
courage save the rest. 

And they won. But greater glory than their win- 
ning is the story 
Of the foeman's friendly greeting of that valiant 
captive band ; 
Speech of his they understood not, talk to him in 
words they could not ; 
But their courage spoke a language that all men 
might understand. 



THE HERO DO"\VN BELO"\V. 

[In modern naval warfare there are greater heroes than 
they who tight: these are they who do tlieir duty in the 
scorching depths of the ship, piling on coal and working 
the engines in ignorance of whether victory or defeat, or utter 
destruction, is to be their fate.] 

N the awfid heat and torture 

Of the fires that leap and dance 
In and out the furnace doors that never 
clo.se. 
On in silence he must \york. 

For with him there's ne'er a chance 
On his brows to feel the outer breeze that blows. 

For they've locked him in a room, 

Down below. 
In a burning, blazing tomb, 

Down below, 
'Where he cannot see the sky. 
Cannot learn in time to fly 
When destruction stalketh nigh, 

Down below. 

Though his name is never mentioned, 
Though we see or know him not. 
Though his deeds may never bring him worldly fame, 
He's a man above the others. 
And the bravest of the lot, 
And the hero of the battle, just the same. 

He's the man who does the work 

Down below. 
From the labor does not shirk, 

Down below. 
He is shovelling day and night. 
Feeding flames a-blazing bright, 
Keeping up a killing fight, 

Down below. 




480 



AMONG THE POETS. 




THE SONG OF THE BOER. 

[Perhaps the best poem called forth by the Bner war is 
thi- !;.llowing, in which an old rifleman of the veldt sees the 
com ug of fale :] 

[|ES, the red-coats are returning; I can hear 
the steady tramp. 
After twenty years of waiting, lulled to 
sleep, 

Since rank and lile at Potcliefstroom we hemmed 
them in our camp, 
And cut them up at Bronkerspruit like sheep. 
They shelled us at Ingogo, but we galloped into 
range, 
And we "shot the British gunners as they stood. 
I o-uessed they would return to us — I knew the 
chance must ohango — 
Hark ! the rooi-baatje singing on the road ! 

But now from snow-swept Canada, from India's torrid 
plains. 
From lone Australian outpost, hither led, 
Obeying their commands as they heard the bugle's 
strains. 
The men in brown have joined the men in red. 
They come to find the colors at Jlajuba left and lost, 

They come to pay us back the debt they owed ; 
And I hear new voices lifted, and I see strange colors 
tossed, 
'Mid the rooi-baatje singing on the road. 

The old, old faiths must falter, the old, old creeds 
must fail : 

I hear it in that distant mumur low — 
The old, old order changes, and 'tis vain for us to rail ; 

The ii-reat world does not want us — we must go. ^ 
And veldt and spruit and kopje to the stranger will 
belong. 

No more to trek before him we shall load ; 
Too well, too well I know it, for I hear it in the song 

Of the rooi-baatje singing on the road. 



A VISION OF THE COMING AGE. 

[Edward Markham has supplemented his " Man with the 
Hoe" with a series of poems, in which, under a marked dis- 
taste with present conditions, is to be seen and felt a hopeful 
anticipation of the coining time. We append a fine example 
read at the "Twentieth Century Labor Dinner" m J.ew 
York :] 

pE stand here at the end of mighty years, 
And a great wonder rushes on the heart. 
Wliile cities rose and blossomed into dust. 
While shadowy lines of Kings were blown 
to air. 




What was the purpose brooding on the world 
Through the large leisure of the centuries'? 
And what the end— failure or victory'? 

Lo ! Man has laid his sceptre on the stars, 

And sent his spell upon the continents. 

The heavens confess their secrets, and the stones 

Silent as God, publish their mystery. 

Man calls the lightnings from their secret place 

To crumple up the spaces of the world. 

And snatch the jewels from the flying hours. 

The wild, white smoking horses of the sea 

Are startled by his thunders. The world-powers 

Crowd round to be the lackeys of the King. 

His hand has torn the veil of the Great Law, 

The law that was made before the worlds— before 

That far first whisper on the ancient deep ; 

The law that swings arturus on the north, 

And hurls the soul of man upon the way. 

But what avail. builders of the world, 

Unless ye build a safety for the soul ? 

Man has put harne.ss on leviathan 

And hooks in his incorrigible jaws ; 

And vet the perils of the street remain. 

Out of the whirlwind of the cities rise 

Lean hunger and the worm of misery 

The heart-break- and the cry of mortal tears. 

But hark, the bugles blowing on the peaks ; 

And hark, a murmur as of many feet ; 

The cry of captains, the divine alarm ! 

Look, the last son of Time comes hurrying on, 

The strong young Titan of democracy ! 

With swinging st^ep he takes the open road. 

In love wit'h fhe winds that beat his hairy brea.st ; 

Baring his sunburnt strength to all the world ; 

He casts his eyes around with jovian glance — 

Searches the tracks of old tradition ; scans 

With rebel heart the books of pedigree _; 

Peers into the face of Privilege, and cries. 

Why are you halting in the path of man '? 

Is it your "shoulder bears the human load'? 

Do you draw down the rains of the sweet heaven. 

And keep the creen things growing? * * * 

Back to hell ! 
We know at last the future is secure ; 
God is descending from Eternity. 
And all thin<i8. sood and e\-il. build the road. 
Yes, down in the thick of things, the men of gree 
Are thumping the inhospitable clay. 
By wondrous toils the men without the dream — 
Led onward by a something unawares. 
Are laying the foundations of the dream. 
The kingdom of fraternity foretold. 



AMTRICAN LITERATURE. 



481 




POOR LITTLE JOE. 

BV (" PELEG ARKWRIGHT ") DAVID L. PROUDFIT. 

Born in N. Y., 1842; died 1897. 

ROP yer eyes wide open, Joey, 

Fur I've brou<iht you sumpin' great. 
Apples ? No, a heap sight better ! 
Don't you take no int'rest '.'' Wait ! 
Flowers, Joe — I know'd you'd hke 'em ; 

Ain't them scrumptious ? Ain't them high ? 
Tears, my boy ? Wot's them fur, Joey ? 
There — poor little Joe ! — don't cry ! 

I was skippin' past a winder, 

Where a bang-up lady sot, 
All amongst a lot of bushes — 

Each one climbin' from a pot ; 
Every bush had flowers on it — 

Pretty '. Mebbe not ! Oh, no ! 
Wish you could a seen 'em growin", 

It was sich a stunnin' show. 

Well, I thought of you, poor feller, 

Lyin' here so sick and weak, 
Never knowin' any comfort. 

And I puts on lots o' cheek. 
" Missus," says I, "if you please, mum, 

Could I ax you for a rose ? 
For my little brother, missus — 

Never seed one, I suppose." 

Then I told her all about you — 

How I bringed you up — poor Joe ! 
(Laekin' women folks to do it.) 

Sich a imp you was. you know — 
Till yer got that awful tumble, 

Jist as I had broke yer in 
(Hard work, too,) to earn yer livin' 

Blackin' boots for honest tin. 

How that tumble crippled of you, 

So's you couldn't hyper much — 
Joe, it hurted when I seen you 

Fur the first time with yer crutch. 
" But," I says, •' he's laid up now, mum, 

'Pears to weaken every day; " 
Joe, she up and went to cuttin' — 

That's the how of this bokay. 

Say ! It seems to me, ole feller, 

You is quite yerself to-night ; 
Kind o' chirk — it's been a fortnit 

Sence yer eyes has been so bright. 
Better ? Well, I'm glad to hear it ! 

Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe. 
SmelliW of 'em's made 7/011 happi/ ? 

Well, I thought it would, you know ! 



Never see the country, did you ? 

Flowere growin" everywhere ! 
Some time when you're better, Joey, 

Mebbe I kiu take you there, 
blowers in heaven? 'M — I s'pose so ; 

Dunno much about it, though ; 
Ain't as fly as wot I might be 

On them topics, little Joe. 

But I've heard it hinted somewheres 

That in heaven's golden gates 
Things is everlastin' cheerful — 

B'lieve that's wot the Bible states. 
Likewise there folks don't git hungry; 

iSo good people, when they dies. 
Finds themselves well fixed forever — 

Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes '! 

Thought they looked a little sing'ler. 

Oh, no ! Don't you have no fear; 
Heaven was made fur such as you is — 

Joe, wot makes you look so queer ? 
Here — wake up ! Oh, don't look that way ! 

Joe ! My boy ! Hold up yer head ! 
Here's yer flowers — you dropped 'em, Joey ! 

Oh, my God, can Joe be dead ? 



RIZPAH. 

BY GEO. M. VICKEES. 
Bom 1843. 

[Mr. Vickera has written many popular poems. He is also 
a song-writer of wide reputation; author of "Guard the 
Flag " and other popular songs. His "Pocma of ih.e Occident " 
appeared in 1S99, from which the above is taken by special 
permission of the author. 

One of the most patlietic and dramatic incidents in sacred 
history is that of Rizpah watching by the gibbets of her sons 
who had been slain to satisfy the haters of King Saul, their 
father. The story may be read in II Samuel, xxi.] 

IGHT came at last. The noisy throng had 
gone. 
And where the sun so late, like alchemist, 
Turned spear and shield and chariot to 
gold 
No sound was heard. 

The awful deed was done ; 
And vengearlce .sated to the full had turiwd 
Away. The Amorites had drunk the blood 
Of Saul and were content. The last armed guard 
Had gone, and stillne.?s dwelt upon the scene. 
The rocky mount slept fast in solitude ; 
The dry, dead shrubs stood weird and grim, and 

marked 
The narrow, heat«d road that sloped and wound 
To join the King's highway. No living thing 
Was seen ; nor insect, bird, nor beast was heard ; 




4^2 



AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



The very air came noiselssly across 

The blighted barley fields below, yet stirred 

No leaflet with its sultry breath. 

Above 
A mist half hid the vaulted firmament. 
And stars shone dimly as though through a veil ; 
Still was their light fidl adequate to show 
Those rigid shapes that seeming stood erect, 
Yet bleeding hung, each from its upright cross, 
A mute companion to its ghastlj- kin. 
The middle watch was come, yet silence still 
Oppressed the night ; the twigs stood motionless 
Like listening phantoms, when, from out 
The shadow of a jutting rock there came 
A moving thing of life, a wolf-like form : 
With slow and stealthy tread it came, then stopped 
To sniff the air. then nearer moved to where 
The seven gibbets stood. 

Then came a shriek, 
A cry of mortal fear that pierced the soul 
Of night ; then up from earth a figure sprang, 
The frightened jackal leaped away, and once 
More Rizpah crouched beneath her dead. 

So night 
And day she watched ; beneath the burning sun 
By day, beneath the stars and moon by night ; 
All through the long Passover Feast she watched. 
Oft in the lonely vigU back through jears 
She went ; in fancy she was young again, 
The favored one of mighty Saul, the King ; 
Again she mingled with the courtly throng. 
And led her laughing boys before her lord. 
Their father. 

Starting then, with upturned face. 
And gazing from her hcillow, tearless ej'es. 
Her blackened lips would move, but make no sound, 
Then, sinking to the ground, she caught once more 
The thread of thought, and thought brought other 

scenes ; 
She saw the strijiling warrior David, son 
Of Jesse, whom the populace adored 
And Saul des[iised ; then Merab came, and then 
Her sweet-faced sister, 3Iichal, whose quick wit 
And love saved David's life. 

Then Rizpah rose, 
Yea, like a tigress sprang unto her feet, 
" Thou. David, curst be thee and thine ! " she shrieked, 
" Thou ingrate murderer ! Had Saul but lived. 
And hadst thou fallen upon thy sword instead. 
My sons, my children still would live." 

'Twas in 
The morning watch, and Rizpah's last, that bright. 
Cleared glowed the Milky Way. The Pleiades 
Like molten gold shone forth ; e'en she who loved 
The mortal Sisyphus peeped timidly. 
And so the Seven wond'ring sistere gazed 
Upon the seven crucified below. 



Such cause for woman's pity ne'er was seen. 

And stars, e'en stones might weep for Rizpah's woe. 

Whose mother-love was deathless as her soul. 

The gray dawn came. The sky was overcast ; 

The wind had changed and sobbed a requiem. 

Still Rizpah slept and dreamed. She heard the sound 

Of harps and timbrels in her girlhood home — 

When rush of wing.s awakened her. She ro.se. 

Her chilled form shaking unto death. She looked, 

And saw the loathsome vultures at their work. 

With javelin stafT in hand she beat them ofi', 

But bolder were they as she weaker grew. 

Till one huge bird swooped at her fierce. 

And sunk its talons in her wasted arm. 

She threw it ofi". the hideous monster fled, 

And Rizpah fell. It then began to rain. 

The famine ceased, and Rizpah's watch was done. 

GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE. 

BT GEO, JI, yiCKERS. 

Permission of the Author. 
[This poem, written by an old Yankee soldier, was for- 
warded by General Buekuer, of the t'uion Army, to the Lee 
Monument Association on the occasion of the unveiling of the 
statue of Lee. It is a tribute alike to the great southern gen- 
eral who is held in universal esteem, and also to the mag- 
nanimous spirit of his old foes in arms.] 

ET glory's wreath rest on the warrior's tomb. 
Let monumental shaft surmount his grave. 
For all the world yields homage to the 
brave. 

And heroes dead have vanquished every foe. 
The earth is strewn with storied slabs which tell 
That manliness is bom of every clime. 
Each sword is drawn to guard a seeming right. 
Each blow is struck to crush a fancied wrong; 
For war proclaims sincere consistency. 
And victory but seals just Heaven's decree, 
Western World, what noble men are thine, 
How brave their hearts, how steadfast to the end ! 
The pride of em]iire is of valor born. 
The soldier shapes the destiny of man. 
Look, then, ye tyrant kings that rtile by fear! 
Behold, ye nations of the earth ! Our sons 
Are warriors bom : Lee was our son ; he sleeps — 
Our son, a soldier, an American. 



WE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE 
S3IILE. 

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

E are not always glad when we smile. 
For the heart in a tempest of pain 
May live in the guise of a laugh in the 
eyes, 
As the rainbow may live in the rain ; 





AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



483 



And the stormless iiiirlit of our woe 

May hang out a radiant star, 
Whose light in the sky of distress is a he 

As black as the thunder eluuds are. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 

For the world is so fickle and gay. 
That our doubts and our fears, and our griefs and our 
tears. 

Are laughingly hidden away ; 
And the touch of a frivolous hand 

3Iay oftener wound than caress. 
And the kisses that drip from the reveller's lip 

May oftener blister than bless. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 

But the conscience is <(nick to record 
That the sorrow and the sin we are holding within 

Is paiii in the sight of the Lord ; 
Yet ever — O ever till pride 

And pretence shall cease to revile, 
The inner recess of the heart must confess 

We are nut always glad when we smile. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF KENTUCKY. 

BV J.i.MES LANE ALLEN. 
Born in Kentucky, 1849. 

[Mr. Allen was formerly a teacher, but later ailnpted litera- 
ture as a profession. His short stories are not«d for their lit- 
erary excellence. "Flute and Violin." " Tkc Blue GrcKX 
Region and oilier Sketches of Kcntucki/," ''John Grai/," "The 
Kfntucky Cardinal," "A Summer in Arcadi/," "The Choir 
Iiivi-nble" etc., are among his most }K)piil;tr works. The fol- 
lowing; is a cutting by Frances Putnam Pogle from '* Flute 
and Violin." Copyright, 1891. by Harper k Brothere. 

The two gentlemen referred to are Colonel Romulus Fields, 
a Kentucky planter of the old school, and Peter Cotton, his 
negro servant. At the close of the war the Colonel, who was 
then over 70 years of .age and unmarried, sells his plantation, 
and, taking Peter with him, moves to Lexing'on. 

For a number of years Peter had been known to his asso- 
ciates upi in the plantation as a preacher of tlie Ciospel, and. 
with an African's fondness for all that is cuispicuous in dress, 
he had gotten his mistress to make for him as;icred blue Jeans 
coat with very long ami spacious tails. Upon these tflils. at 
his request, she had embroidered texts of Scripture with such 
marvelous flourishes nnd harmonious letterings that Sriloinon 
never reflected the glory m which Peter was arraved when- 
ever lie put it on. The extract below is taken from the chap- 
ter entitled " Xew Love," the scene being laid in the park 
surrounding the Colonel's home in Lexington.] 



NE day, in June. Peter discovered a young 
couple love-making in the shrubbery, and 
)3^^^ with the deepest agitation reported the fact 
to the Colonel. Never before, probably, had 
the fluttering of the dear God's wings brought more 
dismay than to these ancient involuntary guardsmen of 
their hiding-place. The Colonel was at first for 
breaking up what he considered a piece of under- 



hand proceedings, but when, a few days later, the 
Colonel, followed by Peter, crept up breathlessly and 
peeped through the bushes at the jiair strolling along 
the shady, perfumed walks, and so plaiidy happy in 
that happiness which comes but once in a lifetime, 
they not only abandoned the idea of betraying the 
secret, but ever afterwards kept away from that part 
of the grounds, lest they should be an interrupti >n. 

" Peter," stammered the Colonel, who had been 
trying to get the words out for three days. '• do you 
suppose he has already — asked her?" 

" Some's pow'ful r(uick on de trigger, en some's 
mighty slow," replied Peter neutrally. '■ En some 
don't use de trigger 't all ! " 

" I always thought there had to be asking done by 
somebody," replied the Colonel, a little vaguely. 

'■ I nuver axed Phillis ! ' 

" Did Phillis ask you, Peter?" 

" No, no, Marse Rom ! I couldn't er stood dat 
from no 'oman ! " 

The Colonel was sitting on the stone steps in front 
of the house, and Peter stood bel iw, leaning against 
a Corinthian column, hat in hand, as he went on to 
tell his love-story. 

■• Hit all happ'n dis way, Marse I!om. We wuz 
gwine have pra'r-meetin', en' I lowed to walk home 
wid Phillis en ax 'er on de road. I been lowin' to 
ax 'er heap 'o times befo', but I ain' jes nuver done 
so. So I says to myse'f. says I, I jest mek my ser- 
mon to-night kiner lead up to whut I gwine tell 
Phillis on de road home. So I tuk my tex' from de lef ' 
tail o' my coat : ' De greates' o' dese is charity ; ' caze 
I knowed charity wuz same ez love. En all de time 
I wuz preachin' an' glorifyin' charity en identifyin' 
charity wid love I couldn' he'p thinkin' 'bout what I 
gwine to say to PhOlis on de road home. Dat mek 
me feel better ; en de better I feel, de better I 
preach, so hit boun' to mek my heahehs feel better 
likewise — Phillis among 'nm. So Phillis she jes sot 
dah listenin' en listenin' en lookin' Uke we wuz a'ready 
on de road home, till I got so wuked up in my feelin's 
I jes knowed de time wuz come. By en by, I hadn' 
mo' 'n done preachin' en wuz lookin' roun' to git my 
liible en my hat, 'fo' up popped dat big Charity 
Green, who been settin' 'longside o' Phillis en tekin' 
ev'y las' thing I said to herse'f. En she tuk hole o' 
my han' en squeeze it, en say she felt mos' like 
shoutin'. En' 'fo' I knowed it, I jes see Phillis wrap 
'er shawl roun' 'er head en tu'n 'er nose up at me 
right ([uick en flip out de dooh. De dogs howl 
mighty mo'nful when I walk home by myse'f dat 
night," added Peter, laughing to himself, '■ en I ain' 
preach dat sermon no mo' tell after me en Phillis 
wuz married." 

'' Hit wuz long time," he continned. ■■ 'fo' Phillia 
come to heah me preach any mo'. But long bout de 
nex' fall we had big meetin', en heap mo' um j'ined. 



484 



AMERICAN LITEIiATUKE. 



But Phillis, she aint nuver j iiied yit. I preached 
ruu^hty nigh all 'roun' my coat-tails till I say to my- 
se f ' D' aint but one tex' lef , en I jes got to fetch 
or wid dat.' De tex' wuz on de right tail o' my 
ci;at: 'Come unto me, all ye dat labor en is heavy 
laden.' Hit wuz a ve'y momentyus sermon, eu all 
long I jes see Phillis wras'lin' wid 'erse'f. en I says, 
' iShe got to come dis night, de Lohd he'pin' me.' 'En 
I liad no mo' n said de word, fo' she jes walked 
down en guv me 'er han'. Den we had de baptizin' 
in Elkhorn Creek, en de watter wuz deep en de cur- 
ren' tol'ble swift. Hit look to me like dere wuz five 
hundred uv 'um on de creek side. By en by I stood 
on de edge o' de watter, en Phillii she come down to 
let me baptize 'er. En me en her j'ined ban's en 
waded out in de creek, mighty slow, case Phillis 
didn't have no shot roun' de bottom uv 'er dress, en 
it kep' floatin' on top de watter till I pushed it doTn. 
But by en by we got 'way out in de creek, en bofe 
uv us wuz tremblin'. En I says to 'er ve'y kin'ly, 
' When I put you un'er de watter. Phillis, you mus' 
try en hole yo'se'f stiff, so I can lif you up easy.' 
But I hadn't mo' 'n jes got 'er laid back over de 
watter when 'er feet flew off de bottom uv de creek, 
en when I retched out to fetch 'er up, I stepped in a 
hole, en 'fo' I knowed it we wuz flounderin' roun' in 
de watter, en de hymn dey wuz singing' on de bank 
sounded mighty confused-Uke. En Phillis, she swal- 
lowed some watter, en all "t once't she jest grap me 
right tight roun' de neck, en said mighty quick, says 
she, ' I gwine marry whoever gits me out'n dis yere 
waiter.' 

" En by en by, when lue en 'er wuz walkin' up de 
bank o' de creek, drippin' all over, I says to 'er, 
says I : 

" ' Does you 'member what you said back yon'er in 
de watter, Phillis ? ' 

'• ' I ain' out'n no watter yit,' says she, ve'y con- 
temptuous. 

" ' When does you consider yo'se'f out'n de watter ? ' 
says I, ve'y humble. 

" ' When I get dese soakin' clo'es off 'n my back.' 

" Hit was good dark when we got home, en atter 
awhile I crope up to de dooh o' Phillis's cabin, en 
put my eye down to de keyhole, en I see Phillis jes 
settin' 'fo' dem blazin' walnut logs dressed up in 'er 
new red linsey dress, en 'er c"cs shinin'. En I shuk 
so I 'mos' faint. Den I tap easy on de dooh, en say 
in a mighty trem'lin' tone, says I : 

" ' Is you out'n de watter yit. Phillis '? ' 

" ' I got on dry dress,' says she. 

" ' Does you 'member what you said back yon'er in 
de watter, Philhs ? ' says I. 

" ' De latch-string on de outside de door,' says she, 
mighty sof . 

'• En I walked in." 

As Peter drew near the end of this reminiscence. 



his voice sank to a key of inimitable tenderness ; and 
when it was ended the ensuing silence was broken 
by his merely adding : 

'• Phillis been dead heap o' years now," after 
which he turned away. 

This recalling of the scenes of a time long gone 
by may have awakened in the breast of the Colonel 
some gentle memory ; for after Peter was gone he 
continued to sit awhile in silent musing. Then get- 
ting up he walked in the falling twilight across the 
yard and through the gardens until he came to a 
secluded spot in the most distant corner. There he 
stooped or rather knelt down and passed his hands, 
as though with mute bonediclirn, over a little bed ■ i' 
old-fashioned China pinks. 

He continued kneeling over ihem, touching them 
S'lftly with his fingers, as though they were the fragrant, 
never-changing symbols of ■^"oiceless communion with 
his jiast. Still it may have been only the early dew 
of the evening that glistened on them when he rose 
and slowly walked away, leaving but the pale moon- 
beams to haunt the spot. 



THE TWO GLASSES. 

BY ELLA %VHEELER WILCOX. 

Born ill "Wisconsin, 1855. 

HEllE sat two glasses, filled to the brim. 
On a rich man's talile, rim to rim ; 
(Ine was ruddy, and red as blood, 
And one v,-as clear as the crystal flood. 



Said the glass of wine to his jialer brother, 
'• Let us tell tales of the past ti each other. 
I can tell of banquet, and revel, and mirth, 

Where I was king, for I ruled in might, 
And the jiroudest and grandest souls on earth 

Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight. 
From the heads of kings I have torn the crown, 
From the heights of fame I have hurled men down ; 
I have blasted many an honored name ; 
I have taken virtue and given shame ; 
I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste, 
Which has made his future a barren waste. 
Far greater than any king am I, 
Or than any army beneath the sky ; 
I have made the arm of the driver fail. 
And sent tlie train from its iron rail ; 
I have made good ships go down at sea. 
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me ; 
For they said, ' Behold, how great you be ! 
Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before you fall. 
And your might and power are over all.' 
Ho ! ho ! pale brother," laughed the wine, 
" Can you boast of deeds as great as mine ? " 




AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



4S5 



Said the water glass : " I can not buast 

Of a king dethruiied, or a murdered host ; 

But I can tell of hearts that were sad. 

By my crystal drops made light and glad ; 

Of thirst I have quenched, and brows I've la\'ed ; 

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I've saved. 

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the 

mountain. 
Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain; 
I have burst m}' cloud fetters and dropped from the 

sky, 

And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye. 
I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain, 
I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with 

grain ; 
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill 
That ground out the flour, and turned at my will ; 
I can tell of manhood, deliased by you. 
That I have uplifted and crowned anew. 
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid, 
I gladden the heart of man and maid ; 
I set the chained wine-captive free. 
And all are better for knowing me." 

These are the tales they told to each other, 
The glass of wine and its paler brother, 
As they sat together, filled to the brim. 
On a rich man's table, rim to rim. 



REQUIEM OX THE AHKOOND OF SWAT. 

BY GEO. T. LANIGAN. 

[Born in Quebec in 1845. Subsequently became a news- 
paper corresjwndent in New York City. Died 18S0. 

The following conglomeration (tf words was suggested to the 
comical brain of Mr. Lanigan by the subjoined announcement 
in the London Times: " The 'Ahkoond of Swat is Dead." 
Swat is a city in India and the Ahkoond is a great Civic 
dignitary.] 

gjriAT, what, what, what, what, what, 
What's tlie news from Swat '? 

Sad news, 

Bad news, 
Comes by the cable led 
Through the Indian Ocean's bed, 
Through the Persian Gulf, the Red 
Sea and the Med- 
iterranean — he's dead ; 
The Ahkoond is dead ! 

" For the Akoond I mourn ; 

Who wouldn't '? 
He strove to disregard the message stern, 

B\it he Ahkoodn't. 
Dead, dead, dead ; 

Sorrow Swats 1 




Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, 
Swats whom he hath often led 
Onward to a gory bed, 

Or to victory 

As the case might be ! 

Sorrow Swats ! 
Tears shed. 

Shed tears like water. 
Your great Ahkoond is dead, 

That Swat's the matter. 

" Mourn, city of Swat, 

Your great Ahkoond is not. 

But lain 'mid worms to rot. 

His mortal part alone, his soul was caught 

(Because he was a good Ahkoond) 

Up to the bo.som of iMahound. 
Though earthy walls his frame surround 
(Forever hallowed be the ground !j 
And say " He's now of no Ahkoond ! " 

His soul is in the skies — 
The azure skies that bend above his loved 

3Ietro]iolis of Swat. 
He sees with laiger. other eyes, 
Athwart all earthly mysteries — 

He knows what's Swat. 

" Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 

With a noise of mourning and of lamentation ! 
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 

With a noise of the mourning of the Swattish 
nation ! 
Fallen is at length 
Its tower of strength, 
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned ; 
Dead lies the great Ahkoond, 
The great Ahkoond of Swat 
Is not ! " 



AN APOSTROPHE TO AGUINALDO. 

BY WM. J. LAMPTON. 

[The following odd bit of construction, which in style much 
resembles Mr. Lanigan's poem on the "Ahknond of IS w at," ap- 
peared soon after the Filipino war began in 1899. This and 
the succeeding lines to John Chinaman are inserted for their 
bold humor and curious construction rather than for literaiy 
merit.] 

AY, Aguinaldo, 

You little measly 

Malay moke, 

What's the matter with you ? 
Don't you know enough 
To know 

That when yon don't see 
Freedom, 
Inalienable rights, 
The American Eagle, 




1 



486 



AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



The Fourtli of July, 

The Star-Spangled Banner, 

And the Palladium of jour Liberties, 

All you've got to do is to ask for them '! 

Are you a natural born chump, 

Or did you catch it from the Spaniards ? 

You ain't bigger 

Than a piece of soap 

After a day's wasliing. 

But, by gravy, you 

Seem to think 

You're a bigger man 

Than Uncle Sam. 

You ought to be shrunk, 

Young fellow ; 

And if you don't 

Demalayize yourself 

At an early date, 

And catch on 

To your golden, glorious opportunities, 

Something's going to happen to you, 

Like a Himalaya 

Sitting down kerswot 

On a gnat. 

If you ain't 

A yellow dog 

You'll take in j'our sign 

And scatter 

Some lied. White and Blue 

Disinfectant 

Over yourself. 

What you need, Aggie, 

Is civilizing. 

And goldarn 

Your yaller percoon-skin, 

We'll civilize you, 

Dead or alive. 

You'd better 

Fall into the 

Procession of Progress 

And go marching on to glory, 

Before you fall 

Into a hole in the ground. 

Understand ? 

That's us — • 

U. S. 



APOSTROPHE TO JOHN CHINAMAN. 

BY WM. J. LAMPTON. 

[Publi-shed just before the invasion of China by the allied 
forces of America and the European nations in 1900.] 

|]00K here, John, 

You great, big, overgrown, 
Listless, lagging, lumbering lummox. 
If you don't stir your stumps 
And keep up with the Chariot of Progres.s. 




You'll be run down 

And dismembered, 

That's what. 

Did you ever hear the story 

Of the bull trying to butt " 

A locomotive off the bridge? 

No? 

Well, you'll see the narrative 

Done in living pictures 

One of these days. 

And you won't be the locomotive. 

Either. 

Put that in your pipe 

And smoke it 

Along with your blamed httle 

Opium pill, 

Will you ? 

Great Joss, John, 

What's the matter with you? 

You're a thousand years behind the age, 

And still you think 

You're the head of the procession. 

Why in thunder 

Don't you get that almond eye of yours 

Onto the signs of the times. 

And tumble 

To the kind of a crawfish 

You are, anyhow ? 

Why, you self-sufficient, 

Pigtailed Celestial, 

Your representatives in this country 

Of enlightened lilierty 

And progressive puf^h 

Have been doing the washee-washee act 

For Melican man 

Long enough to have elevated 

Your countless millions 

Above the lethargic level 

At which all of you have remained 

Ever since Mon Gol (or whatever his name wae). 

The Son of Gin Sang, 

Opened a tea joint 

And proceeded to foiuid 

The Mongolian Dynasty — 

With the accent on the last two syllables 

But have you caught on 

A little bit ? 

Nary a caught. 

And you are to-day not only 

Pigtailed, but pigheaded, 

And your last days 

Are worse than your first. 

Look at yourself. 

With four hundred millions of population 

In an everlasting rabble and riot 

Of rebellion and blood, 

And away over their headf. 



AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



487 



III ijiiKiianee, poverty and filth, 

And you don't do a darn thing 

Except to encourage them 

To be worse if they can. 

You're a gigantic, decayed cheese 

Filled full of seething maggots. 

That's what you are. 

And civilization feels called upon 

To disinfect you 

For the welfare of the world. 

Look at that ])o wager Empress 

You've got leading you around by the nose ; 

You could make a white mark 

On her character 

^Vith a piece of charcoal. 

And look at that Boxer gang ; 

The kind of boxing you 

Ought to give them 

Is the oblong kind, 

'A'ith a silver plate on the lid. 

But you'll never do it ; 

You ain't that kind. 

Just the same, somebody else will. 

And already 

The American Eagle, 

The British Lion and 

The Russian Bear, 

With a Franco-German side-show, 

Are about to open a circus season 

In your midst 

That will constitute 

A megatherian wonder, 

As an object lesson 

To the very worst misgovernment 

On earth ; 

And after the regular performance 

There will be a concert 

At which all civilization 

AVill sing in a grand chorus : 

'' Praise God from whom all blessings flow." 



ADMIRAL VON DIEDERICHS. 

BY G. V. HOBART. 

[During the Spanish-American war, while Admiral, then 
Commodore, Dewey was blockading the city of Manila, the 
German Admiral, von Diederiche. on more than one occasion 
manifested acts of discourtesy and threatened hostility. Fi- 
nally Dewey sent him a perempton,' message, warningagainst 
further manifestations of an unfriendly character and closing 
with the sentence : " If you want a fight you can get it in five 
minutes." Tlie following admonitory lines were inspired by 
the event:] 

CH, Admiral von Diederichs, 

I van to sbeak mit you ; 
I Yust lisden fer a leedle und 

I'll tell you vot to do ; 
Sail from dem Philypeanuts isles 




A thousand miles aboud — 

Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Der Kaiser vas a peach, 
I'm villing to atmit id, bud 

Dare's udders on der beach. 
So, darefore, dot's der reason vy, 

Doan'd let your head get stoud, 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vot pitzness haf you got 
In loafing py Manila ven 

Der heat-vaves are so hot ? 
Vy doan'd you yust oxcoos yourself 

LTnd durn your shibs aboud — 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid I 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vy vill you be a clams? 
Go ged some udder islands vich 

Are not old Uncle Sam's, 
Y'ust wrote to Kaiser Wilhelm, yet, 

Und dell him dare's no douid, 
Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 

Uf you doan'd vatch ouid ! 



CLIPPING THE BIBLE. 

BY DWIGHT L. MOODY, THE EVANGELIST. 

Born in Massachusetts, Feb. 5, 1837. Died Dec. 22,1899. 

HERE is another class. It is quite fash- 
ionable for people to say, " Yes, I believe 
the Bible, but not the supernatural. I 
believe everything that corresponds with 
this reason of mine." They go on reading the Bible 
with a penknife, cutting out this and that. Now, if I 
have a right to cut out a certain portion of the Bible, I 
don't know why one of my friends has not a right to 
cut out another, and another friend to cut out an- 
other part, and so on. l''ou would have a queer 
kind of Bible if everybody cut out what he wanted 
to. Every liar would cut out everything about 
lying ; every drunkard would be cutting out what 
de didn't like. Once, a gentleman took his Bible 
around to his minister's and said : " That is j'our 
Bible." " Why do you call it my Bible '? " said the 
minister. " Well," replied the gentleman, " I have 
been sitting under your preaching for five years, and 
when you said that a thing in the Bible was not 
authentic, I cut it out." He had about a third of 




4S8 



AMERICAN LITERATURE. 



the Bible cut out ; all of Job, all of Ecclesiastes and 
Kevelation, and a good deal besides. The minister 
wanted him to leave the Bible with him ; he didn't 
want the rest of his congregation to see it. But the 
man said : " Oh, no ! I have the covers left, and I 
will hold on to them." And off he went holding on 
to the covers. If you believed what some men 
preach, you would have nothing but the covers left 
in a few months. I have often said that, if I am 
going to throw away the Bible, 1 will throw it all 
into the fire at once. There is no need of waiting 
five years to do what you can do as well at once. I have 
yet to find a man who begins to [lick at the Bible 
that does not pick it all to pieces in a little wdiUe. A 
minister whom I met awhile ago said to me : '■ Moody, 
I have given up preaching except out of the four 
Gospels. I have given up all the p]pistles, and all 
the Old Testament ; and I do not know why I can- 
not go to the fountain-head and preach as Paul did. 
I believe the (Jospels are all there is that is authen- 
tic." It was not long before he gave up the four 
Gospels, and finally gave up the ministry. He gave 
up the Bible, and God gave him up. 



NOBODY'S CHILD. 

BY Miss PHILA H. CASE. 

[The following poem originally appeared in ISfiT. It has 
been noticed and copied and sung and spoken almost every- 
where, even finding its way into more than one English pub- 
lication, and has really become a little ■* n<.ibody's child," so 
far as its authorship and due credit are concerned.] 

11 LONE in the dreary, pitiless street. 

With my torn old dress and bare, cold feet, 

All day I wandered to and fro. 

Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go; 

The night's coming on in darkness and dread. 

And the chill sleet beating upon my bare head ; 

Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so wild ? 

It is because I'm nobody's child '? 




Just over the way there's a flood oi' hght. 
And warmth and beauty, and all things bright j 
Beautiful children, in robes so fair. 
Are caroling songs in rapture there. 
I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, 
Would ]iity a poor httle beggar like me, 
Wandering Mone in the merciless street, 
Naked and shivering and nothing to eat. 

Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes down. 
In its terrible blackness all over the town'? 
Shall I lay me down 'neath the angry sky, 
On the cold, hard pavements alone to die? 
When the beautiful children their prayers have said. 
And mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed. 
No dear mother ever upon me smiled — 
Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child ! 

No father, no mother, no sister, not one 
In all the world loves me ; e'en the little dogs run 
When I wander too near them ; 'tis wondrous to see 
How everything shrinks from a beggar like me! 
Perhaps 'tis a dream ; but, sometimes, when I lie 
Gazing far up in the dark blue sky. 
Watching for hours some large, bright star, 
I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar. 

And a host of white-robed, nameless things 

Cotue fluttering o'er me in gilded uings ; 

A hand that is strangely soft and fair 

Caresses gently my tangled hair. 

And a voice like the carol of some wild bird — 

The sweetest voice that was ever heard — 

Calls me many a dear pet name. 

Till my heart and spirits are all aflame ; 

And tells me of such unbounded love, 
And bids me come up to their home above. 
And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise. 
They look at me with their sweet blue eyes. 
And it seems to me out of the dreary night 
I am going up to the world of light, 
And away from the hunger and storms so wild — 
I am sure I shall then be somebody's child. 




* * * 5r 










Miscellaneous Masterpieces, 

FEOM VARIOUS AMERICAN AND ANONYMOUS AUTHORS, 

CHOSEIT WITH A VIEW TO THEIR GENERAL POPTTLARITY OB ADAPTATION 



KOR READINO AND RECITATION. 




HOME, SWEET HOME. 

John Howard Payne, the author of the following 
beautiful and perhaps most widely known song in 
the world, was born in New York, on the ninth of 
June, 1792. His remarkable career as an actor and 
dramatist belongs to the history of the stage. As a 
poet he will be known only by a single song. He 
died at Tunis, in 1852, where he was for some time 
Consul for the United States. 



I ID pleasures and palaces though we may 
roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 
home ! 

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with 
elsewhere. 

Home ! home, sweet home! 
There'8 no place hke home I 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain, 
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; 
The birds singing gayly that come at my call : 
Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than 
all. 

Home ! sweet, sweet home I 

There's no place like home. 



THE STAK-SPANGLED BANNER. 

Francis Scott Key, the author of the following- 
patriotic poem, was born in Frederick County, Mary- 
land, August 1, 1779. He was a very able and eloquent, 
lawyer, and one of the most respectable gentlemen 
whose lives have ever adorned American society. He 
was a man of much literary cultivation and taste, and 
his religious poems are not without merit. He died very 
suddenly at Baltimore on January 11, 1843. In 1814,- 
when the British fleet was at the mouth of the Po- 
tomac- River, and intended to attack Baltimore. Mr. 
Key and Mr. Skinner were sent in a vessel with a 
flag of truce to obtain the release of some prisoneri 
the English had taken in their expedition against 
Washington. They did not succeed, and were told 
that they -would be detained till after the attack had 
been made on Baltimore. Accordingly, they -went 
in their own vessel, strongly guarded, vrith the Brit- 
ish fleet, and when they came within sight of Fort 
McHenry, a short distance below the city, they could 
see the American flag flying on the ramparts. As 
the day closed in, the bombardment of the fort com- 
menced, and Mr. Key and Mr. Skinner remained on 
deck all night, watching with deep anxiety every 
shell that was fired. Wiiile tlie bombardment con- 
tinned, it was sulBcient proof that the fort had not 
surrendered. It suddenly ceased some time before 
day ; but as they had no communication with any of 
the enemy's ships, they did not know whether the 
fort had surrendered and their homes and friends, 
were in danger, or the attack upon it had been aban- 
doned. They paced the deck the rest of the night in 

489 



49° 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 




painful suspense: watching witli intense anxiety for 
the return of day. At length the light came, and 
tliey Siiw that -'our flag was still there," and soon 
thi-'y were informed that tlie attack had failed. In 
the fervor of the moment, Mr. Key took an old letter 
from his pocket, and on its back wrote the most of 
this celebrated song, finishing it as soon as he reached 
Baltimore. He showed it to liis friend Judge JMichol- 
son, who was so pleased with it that he placed it at 
once in the hands of the printer, and in an hour after 
it was all over the city, and hailed with enthusiasm, 
and took its place at once as a national song. Thus, 
this patriotic, impassioned ode became forever asso- 
ciated Tvith the "Stars and Stripes." 

! SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hail'd at the twihght's 

last gleaming ; 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, 
through the perilous fight. 
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly 

streaming ? 
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave ]iroof thro' the night that our flag was still 

there ; 
1 say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave'? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the 

deep 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 

reposes. 
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering 

steep 
As it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses ? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam ; 
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 
'Tis the star-spangled banner. ! long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore. 

Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, 
A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? 
Their blood hath wash'd out their foul footsteps' 
])olhitii>n ; 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave, 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

! thus be it ever, when freeman shall stand 

Between our loved home and the war's desolation ; 
Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven- 
rescued land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us 
a nation ! 
Then conc(uer we must, for our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto, '• In God is our trust," 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the freeand the home of the brave. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

BY JOSEPH KODMAN DRAKE. 
Born in New York, Ausust 17, 1795 ; died 
ber 21, 1820. 



Septem- 




I'HEN Freedom from her mountain height, 
Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night. 
And set the stars of glory there ! 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies. 

And stri])ed its pure celestial white 

With streakings of the morning light ; 

Then, from his mansion in the sun, 

She called her eagle-bearer down, 

And gave into his niightj' hand 

The symbol of her chosen land ! 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumping loud. 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the stone. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke. 
To ward away the battle-stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victor}' ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, 
p]re yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn. 
And, as his springing steps advance. 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory .sabres rise and fall 
Like .shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow. 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave 
When death, careering on the gale. 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack. 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



491 




Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy sjilendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given ! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us ! 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 



BLIND MAN AND THE ELEPHANT. 

BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE. 

Born in Vermont, June 2, 1816 ; died in Albany, 
N. Y., March 31, 1887. 

T was si."! men of Indostan 

To learning much inclined. 
Who went to see the elephant 
(Though all of them were blind,) 
That each by observation 
Might satisfy his mind. 

The First approached the elephant, 

And, happening to fall 
Against his broad and sturdy side, 

At once began to bawl: 
" God bless me ! but the elephant 

Is very like a wall! " 

The Second, feeling of the tusk. 
Cried: "Ho! what have we here 

So very round and smooth and sharp? 
To me 'tis mighty dear 

This wonder of an elephant 
Is very like a spear!" 

The Third approached the animal, 

And, happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his hands. 

Thus boldly up and spake; 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant 

Is very like a snake! " 

The Fourth reached out his eager hand. 

And felt about the knee. 
"AVhat most this wondrous beast is Hke 

Is mighty plain," quoth he; 
"Tis clear enough the elephant 

Is very like a tree!" 



The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear. 

Said: "E'en the blindest man 
Can tell what this resembles most; 

Deny the fact who can. 
This marvel of an ele]ihant. 

Is very like a fan! ' 

The Si.^th no .sooner had begun 

About the beast to grope, 
Than, seizing on the swinging tail 

That fell within his scope. 
"I see," (juoth he, "the elephant 

Is very like a rope!" 

And so these men of Indostan 

Disputed loud and long, 
Each in his own opiniim 

E.xceeding stiff' and strong. 
Though each was partly in the right. 

And all were in the wrong! 

5I0R.\L. 

So, oft in theologic wars 

The disputants, I ween, 
Rail on in utter ignorance 

Of what each other mean. 
And prate about an elephant 

Not one of them has seen! 



HAIL, COLUMBIA! 

BY JOSEPH HOPKINSON. 

Born 1770 ; died 1842. The following interesting 
story is told concerning the writing of this now fa- 
mous patriotic song. "It was written in the summer 
of 1798, when war with France was thought to.be 
inevitable. Congress was then in session in Phila- 
delpliia, deliberating upon that important subject, 
and acts of hostility had actually taken place. The 
contest between England and France was rasping, 
and the people of the United States were divided into 
parties for the one side or the other, some thinking 
that policy and duty required us to espouse the cause 
of republican France, as she was called ; while others 
were for connecting ourselves with England, under 
the belief that she was the great conservative power 
of good principles and safe government. The viola- 
tion of our rights by both belligerents was forcing us 
from the just and wise policy of President Washing- 
ton, which was to do equal justice to both, to take 
part with neither, but to preserve a strict and honest 
neutrality between them. Tlie prospect of a rup- 
ture with France was e.xceedingly offensive to the 
portion of the people who espoused her cause ; and 
the violence of the spirit of party has never risen 
higher, I think not so high, in our country, as it did 
at that time, upon that question. The theatre was 
then open in our city. A young man belonging to it, 
whose talent was as a singer, was about to take his 
benefit. I had known him when he was at soliool. 
On this acquaintance, he called on me one Saturday 



492 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 




afternoon, his benefit being announced for the follow- 
ing Monday. His prospects were very dishearten- 
ing; but lie" said that if be could get a patriotic song 
adapted to the tune of the 'President's March', he 
did not doubt of a full house ; that the poets of the 
theatrical corps had been trying to accomplish it, but 
had not succeeded. I told him I would try what I 
could do for him. He came the uext afternoon, and 
the song, such as it was, was ready for him. The 
object of the author was to get up an American spirit, 
which should be independent of and above the inter- 
ests, passions, and policy of both belligerents, and 
look and feel exclusively for our own honor and 
rights. No allusion is made to France or England, 
or the quarrel between them, or to the question which 
was most in fault in their treatment of us. Of course 
the song found favor with both parties, for both 
were Americans : at least, neither could disavow the 
sentiments and feelings it inculcated. Such is the 
historj' of this song, which has endured infinitely be- 
yond the expectation of the author, as it is beyond 
any merit it can boast of, except that of being truly 
and exclusively patriotic in its sentiments and spirit." 

VIL, Columbia ! happy land ! 

Hai), ye heroes ! heaven-born hand ! 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
F]njoy'd the peace your valor won. 
Let independence be our boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost ; 
Ever grateful for tlie ]irize ; 
Let its altar reach the skies. 

Firm — united — let us be. 

Rallying round our liberty ; 

As a band of brothers join'd, 

Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots ! rise once more ; 
Defend your rights, defend yotir shore ; 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Let no rtide foe with impious hand, 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earn'd prize. 
While offering peace sincere and just, 
In Heaven we place a manly trust, 
That truth and justice will prevail. 
And every scheme of bondage fail. 
Firm — united, etc. 

Sound, sound the trump of Fame ! 
Let Washington's great name 
Ring through the world with loud applause. 
Ring through the world with loud applause; 
Let every clime to Freedom dear 
Listen with a joyful ear. 
With equal skill and godlike power, 
He governs in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war ; or guides, with ease, 
The happier times of honest peace. 
Firm — united, etc. 




Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands, — 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
But, arm'd in virtue firm and true, 
His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and you. 
When Hope was sinking in dismay, 
And glooms obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free. 
Resolved on death or libertj-. 
Firm — united, etc. 



BETTY AND THE BEAR. 

HUMOROUS. 

N a pi(ineer's cabin out AVest, so they say, 
A great big black grizzly trotted one day, 
And .seated himself on the hearth, and 
began 

To lap the contents of a two-gallon pan 
Of milk and potatoes, — an excellent meal, — 
And then looked about to see what he could steal. 
The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep, 
And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep 
Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there, 
And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear. 

So he screamed in alarm to his slurabering_/j-o!«, 

" Thar's a bar in the kitchen as big's a cow ! " 

"A what?" "Why, a bar!" '■ Well, murder him, 

then ! " 
" Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in." 
So Betty leaped up, and the poker .she seized. 
While her man shut the door, and against it he 

squeezed. 

As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows, 
Now on his forehead, and now on his nose, 
Her man through the key-hole kept shouting within, 
" Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin. 
Now a I'ap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout, 
Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out." 
So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone, 
At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone. 

Now when the old man saw the bear was no more. 
He ventured to poke his nose out of the door. 
And there was the grizzly stretched on the floor. 
Then ofi" to the neighbors he hastened to tell 
All the wonderful things that that morning befell; 
And he published the marvelous story afar. 
How " me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar! 
yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it, 
Come see what we did, me and Betty, we did it." 

Anonymous. 



MISCELLAXEOUS MASTERPIECES. 




wm 



BY CLEMENT C. MOORE. 

Born in New York, July 15, 1779; died in Rliode 
Island, July 10, 1863. 

WAS the nijjht before Christmas, when all 
through the house 




Not a creature was stirring, not even a 
mouse ; 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. 
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds 
While visi(jns of sugar-plums danced through their 

heads ; 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, 
Had settled our brains for a long winter's nap. 
When out on tk*^ lawn there arose such a clatter, 





I sprang from the bed to see what 
was the matter. 

Away to the windo.v I flew like a 
flash. 

Tore open the shutters and threw 
up the sash. 

The moon on the breast of the new- 
fallen snow 

Gave the lustre of mid-day to ob- 
jects below; 

When what to my wondering eyes 

should appear 8 

But a miniature sleigh and eight " 
tiny reindeer. 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

Jlore rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and snouted, and called them by 
name : 

" Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer ! and 
Vixen ! 

On, Comet ! on. Cupid ! on, Donder and Blifzen I 

To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall 1 

Now dash away I dash away ! dash away all ! " 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, 
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. 
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 
With a sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. 
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas cr.me with a bound. 
lie was dressed a'" in fur, from bis head to his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and 

s;oot ; 
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. 
His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples, how 

merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry 1 

49.^ 



494 



MISCELLANEOTTS MASTERPIECES. 







His droll little mouth was drawn 

like a bow. 
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow ; 
The stump of a pipe he held ticrht in his teeth, 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 
He had a broad face, and a little round belly 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. 
He was chubby and plumi^ — a ripht jolly old elf — ■ 
And I lauiihed, when I saw him. in spite of myself; 
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head. 
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread ; 
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work. 
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, 
And laying his finger aside of his no.se, 
And giving a nod. up the chimney he rose. 
He .sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle. 
And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle, 



But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,] 
" Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night! "J 







M^li 



^< 



MISCELLANEOUS JIASTERPIECES. 



495 




WASHINGTON'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOL- 
DIERS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF 
LONG ISLAND, 1776. 

BY GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
Born 1732 ; iUlhI 1799. 

HE time is now near at hand which must 
probably determine whether Americans 
are to be freemen or slaves ; whether tliey 
are to have any property they can call their own ; 
whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged 
and destro3'ed, and themselves consigned to a state of 
wretchedness from which no human efforts will de- 
liver them. The fate of unborn millions will now 
depend, under God, on the courage and conduct ot 
this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemy leaves 
us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most 
abject submission. We have, therefore, to resolve to 
conquer or to die. 

Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us for a 
vigorous and manly exertion ; and if we now shame- 
fully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole 
world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our 
cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose 
hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great 
and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen 
are now upon us ; and we shall have their blessings 
and praises, if happily we are the instruments of sav- 
ing them from the tyranny meditated against them. 
Let us, therefore, animate and encourage each other, 
and show the whole world that a freeman contending 
for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slav- 
ish mercenary on earth. 

Liberty, property, life, and honor are all at stake. 
Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of 
our bleeding and insulted country. Our wives, chil- 
dren ^nd parents, expect safety from us only ; and 
they have every reason to believe that Heaven will 
crown with success so ju.st a cause. The enemy will 
endeavor to intimidate by show and appearance ; but 
remember they have been repulsed on various occa- 
sions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad, 
— their men are conscious of it ; and, if opposed with 
firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our 
advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, 
the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good 
ecldier will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, 
and reserve his fire until he is sure of doing execution. 




THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT AND 

THE STATES. 

BY ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 

Born in Nevis, one of tlie West India Islands, in 
1757 ; was killed by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 1804. 

This speech was delivered in the New York Coii- 
vcnliiin, on the adoption of llio Cons^titutioii, 1788. 

R CHAIRMAN, it has been advanced as a 
principle, that no government but a des- 
|iotism can exist in a very extensive coun- 
try. This is a melancholy consideration, indeed. If 
it were founded on truth, we ought to dismiss the 
idea of a republican government, even for the State 
of New York. But the position has been misappre- 
hended. Its application relates only to democracies, 
where the body of the people meet to transact busi- 
ness, and where representation is unknown. The 
ap]ilication is wrong in respect to all representative 
governments, but especially in relation to a Con- 
federacy of States, in which the Supreme Legislature 
has only general powers, and the civil and domestic 
concerns of the people are regulated by the laws of 
the several States. I insist that it never can be the 
interest or desire of the national Legislature to destroy 
the State Governments. The blow aimed at the mem- 
bers must give a fatal wound to the head, and the 
destruction of the States must be at once a political 
suicide. But imagine, for a moment, that a political 
frenzy should seize the government ; suppose they 
should make the attempt. Certainly, sir, it would be 
forever impracticable. This has been sufficiently 
demonstrated by reason and experience. It has been 
proved that the members of republics have been, and 
ever will be, stronger than the head. Let us attend 
to one general historical example. 

In the ancient feudal governments of Europe, there 
were, in the first place, a monarch ; subordinate to 
him, a body of nobles; and subject to these, the 
vassals, or the whole body of the people. The author- 
ity of the kings was limited, and that of the barons 
con.siderably independent. -The histories of the feudal 
wars exhibit little more than a series of successful en- 
croachments on the prerogatives of monarchy. 

Here, sir, is one great proof of the superiority 
which the members in limited governments possess 
over their head. As long as the barons enjoyed the 
confidence and attachment of the people, they had 
the strength of the country on their side, and were 



496 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



irresistible. I may be told in some instances the 
barons were overcome ; but how did this happen ? 
Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the 
royal authority, and the establishment of their own 
power, to oppress and tyrannize over their vassals. 
As commerce enlarged, and wealth and civilization 
increased, the people began to feel their own weight 
and consequence ; they grew tired of their oppres- 
sions ; united their strength with that of their prince, 
and threw oS the yoke of aiistocracy. 

These very instances prove what I contend for. 
They prove that in whatever direction the popular 
weight leans, the current of power will flow ; what- 
ever the popular attachments be, there will rest the 
political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that 
the State Governments will become the oppressors of 
the people ? Will they forfeit their aifections ? Will 
they combine to destroy the liberties and happiness 
of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involv- 
ing themselves in ruin ? God forbid 1 The idea, sir, is 
shocking ! It outrages every feeling of humanity and 
•every dictate of common sense ! 



WHAT SAVED THE UNION. 

BY GENERAL U. S. GRANT. 

Born 1822 ; died 1885. 

From a speech delivered on tlie Fourth of July at 
Hamburg. 

SHARE with you in all the pleasure and 
gratitude which Ameiicans so far away 
should feel on this anniversary. But I 
must dissent from one remark of our consul, to the 
effect that I saved the country during the recent war. 
If our country could be saved or ruined by the 
efforts of any one man, we should not have a country, 
and we should not now be celebrating our Fourth of 
July. There are many men who would have done 
far better than I did, under the circumstances in 
which I found myself during the war. If I had 
never held command, if I had fallen, if all our gen- 
erals had fallen, there were ten thousand behind us 
who would have done our work just as well, who 
would have followed the contest to the end, and 
never surrendered the Union. Therefore, it is a 
mistake and a reflection upon the people to attribiite 
so me, or to any number of us who hold high com- 




mands, the salvation of the Union. We did oui 
work as well as we could, so did hundreds of thou- 
sands of others. We demand no credit for it, for we 
should have been unworthy of our country and of 
the American name if we had not made every sacri- 
fice to save the Union. What saved the Union was 
the coming forward of the young men of the nation. 
They came from their homes and fields, as they did 
in the time of the Revolution, giving everything to 
the country. To their devotion we owe the salvation 
of the Union. The humblest soldier who carried a 
musket is entitled to as much credit for the results 
of the war as tho.se who were in command. So long 
as our young men are animated by this spirit there 
will be no fear for the Union. 



THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON. 



BY RUFUS CHOATE. 



Born 1799 ; died 1858. 




HE birthday of the " Father of his Coun- 
try ! " May it ever be freshly remem- 
bered by American hearts ! Jlay it ever 
reawaken in them filial veneration for his memory; 
ever rekindle the fires of patriotic regard to the 
country he loved so well ; to which he gave his youth- 
ful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous 
period of the early Indian warfare ; to which he de- 
voted his life, in the maturity of his powers, in the 
field ; to which again he offered the counsels of his 
wisdom and his experience, as President of the Con- 
vention that framed our Constitution ; which he 
guided and directed while in the Chair of State, and 
for which the last prayer of his earthh' supplication 
was offered up, when it came the moment for him so 
well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He was 
the first man of the time in which he grew. His 
memory is first and most sacred in our love ; and ever 
hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze in the 
last American heart, his name shall be a spell of 
power and might. 

Yes, gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast 

felicity, which no man can share with him. It was 

the daily beauty and towering and matchless glory 

I of his life, which enaliled him to create his country, 

I and, at the same time, secure an undying love ani^ 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



497 



re^rd from the whole American people. " The first 
in the liearts of his countrymen ! " Yes, first ! lie 
has our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly 
there were brave and wise and good men, before his 
day, in every colony. But the American nation, as 
a nation, I do not reckon to have begun before 177-i. 
And the first love of that young America was Wash- 
ington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her 
earliest breath spoke it. It still is her proud ejacula- 
tion ; and it will he the last gasp of her expiring life ! 
Yes, others of our great men have been appre- 
ciated, — many admired by all. But him we love. 
Him we all love. About and around him we call 
up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied ele- 
ments, — no sectional prejudice nor bias, — no party, 
no creed, no dogma of politics. None of these shall 
assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle blows 
darkest and rages highest, the memory of Washington 
shall nerve every American arm and cheer every 
American heart. It shall relume that promethean 
fire, that sublime flame of patriotism, that devoted 
love of country, which his words have commended, 
which his example has consecrated. Well did Lord 
Byron write : 

" Where may the wearied eye repose, 

When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows, 

Nor despicable state ? — 
Yes — one — the first, the last, the best, 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

Whom envy dared not hate, 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
To make man blush, there was but one." 



OH! WHY SHOULD THE SPIKIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD? 

BY WILLIAM KNOX. 

A favorite poem with Abraham Lincoln, who often 
repeated it to his friends. 

II ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying 
cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade. 
Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low and the high, 
Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie. 
32 




The infant a mother attended and loved ; 
The mother that infant's afiection who proved ; 
The husband that mother and infant who blessed, — 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose 

eye, 
Shone beauty and pleasure, — her triumphs are by ; 
And the memory of those who loved lior and praised 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; 
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap ; 

The herdsman who chmbed with his goats up the 

steep ; 
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven ; 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven ; 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just. 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been ; 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; 
We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would 

think ; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would 

•shrink ; 
To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; 
But it speeds for us all, hke a bird on the wing. 

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; 

They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; 

They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will 

come; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is 

dumb. 

They died, aye ! they died ; and we things that are 

now. 
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
Who make in their dwelling a transient abode. 
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage 

road. 



498 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 




Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the -wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath. 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, — 
Oh ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 



COLUJIBUS IN CHAIxXS. 

BY MISS JEWSBURY. 

I ND this. Spain ! is thy return 
For the new world I gave ! 
Chains ! — this the recompense I earn I 
The fetters of the slave ! 
Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sea, 
Rises on realms I found for thee. 

I served thee as a son would serve ; 

I loved thee with a father's love ; 
It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve, 

To raise thee other lands above. 
That thou, with all thy wealth, might be 
The single empress of the sea. 

For thee my form is bowed and worn 
With midnight watches on the main -, 

For thee my soul hath calmly borne 

Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain ; 

Through life, what'er my lot might be, 

I lived, dared, sufl'ered, but for thee. 

My guerdon ! — 'Tis a furrowed brow. 

Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears. 

And blighted hope, and broken vow. 
And poverty for coming years. 

And hate, with malice in her train : — 

What other guerdon ? — View my chain I 

Yet say not that I weep for gold ! 

No, let it be the robber's spoil. — 
Nor yet, that hate and malice bold 

Decry my triumph and my toil. — 
I weep but for Spain's lasting shame; 
T weep but for her blackened fame. 

No more. — The sunlight leaves the sea ; 

Farewell, thou never-dying kingl 
Earth's clouds and changes change not thee, 

And thou — and thou, — grim, giant thing, 
Cause of my glory and my pain, — 
Farewell, unfathomable main ! 




THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 

BY THEODORE o'hARA. 

Born in Danville, Kentucky, 1820 ; died in Alabama, 
1867. This famous poem was written in honor of 
a comrade of the author, a Kentucky soldier, who 
fell mortally wounded in the battle ofBuena Vista. 

HE muffled drum's sad roll has beat 

The soldier's last tattoo; 
No more on life's parade shall meet 

The brave and fallen few. 
On fame's eternal camping-ground 

Their silent tents are spread, 
And glory guards with solemn round 

The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now swells upon the wind, 
No troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved ones left behind ; 
No vision of the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarms, 
No braying horn or screaming fife 

At dawn shall call to arms. 

Their .shivered swords are red with rust. 

Their plumed heads are bowed. 
Their haughty banner trailed in dust 

Is now their martial shroud — 
And plenteous funeral tears have washed 

The red stains from each brow, 
And the proud forms by battle gashed 

Are free from anguish now. 

The neighboring troop, the flashing blade. 

The bugle's stirring blast, 
The charge, the dreadful cannonade. 

The din and shout are passed — 
Nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal. 

Shall thrill with fierce delight 
Those breasts that never more may feel 

The rapture of the fight. 

Like the fierce northern hurricane 

That sweeps his great plateau. 
Flushed with the triumph yet to gain 

Came down the serried foe — 
Who heard the thunder of the fray 

Break o'er the field beneath. 
Knew well the watchword of that day 

Was victory or death. 

Full many a mother's breath hath swept 

O'er Angostura's plain. 
And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above its moldered slain. 
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, 

Or shepherd's pensive lay, 



I 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



499 



Alone now wake each solemn height 
That frowned o'er that dread fray. 

Sons of the dark and bloody ground, 

Ye must not slumber there, 
Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air ! 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall be your titter grave ; 
She claims from war its richest spoil — 

The ashes of her brave. 

Thus 'neath their parent turf they rest, 

Far from the gory field. 
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast 

On many a bloody shield. 
The sunshine of their native sky 

Shines sadly on them here. 
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by 

The heroes' sepuk-hre. 

Eest on, embalmed and sainted dead! 

Dear as the blood ye gave ; 
No impious footstep here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave ! 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While fame her record keeps, 
Or honor points the hallowed spot 

Where valor proudly sleeps. 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone 

In deathless song shall tell. 
When many a vanished year hath flown, 

The story how ye fell ; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, 

Nor time's remorseless doom. 
Can dim one ray of holy light 

That gilds your glorious tomb. 



ADDRESS AT THE DEDICATION OF 
GETTYSBURG CEMETERY. 

BY ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

Born 1809 ; died 1865. Mr. Lincoln always spoke 
briefly and to the point. The following short oration, 
delivered at the dedication of the Gettysburg Ceme- 
tery, is universally regarded as one of the greatest 
masterpieces, of brief and simple eloquence, in the 
realm of oratory. 

i OURSCORE and seven years ago our fathers 
brought forth upon this continent a new 
nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated 
to the proposition that all men are created equal. 
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing 
whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and 




so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a 
great battlefield of that war. We are met to dedi- 
cate a portion of it as the final resting-place of those 
who here gave their lives that that nation might 
live. 

It is altogether fitting and proper that we should 
do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we 
cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. 
The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, 
have consecrated it i'ar above our power to add or 
detract. The world will little note, nor long remember 
what we say here, but it can never forget what they 
did here. 

It is for us. the living, rather to be dedicated here 
to the unfinished work they have thus far .so nobly 
carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated 
to the great task remaining before us, that from these 
honored dead we take increased devotion to the 
cause for which they gave the last full measure of 
devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead 
shall not have died in vain, and that the nation shall, 
under God, have a new birth of freedom, and that 
the government of the people, by the people, and for 
the people shall not perish from the earth. 



MEMORY. 

BY JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Born 1831 ; died 1881. The following poem waa 
writen by llie late President Garfield during his senior 
year in Williams College, Massachusetts, and was 
published in the Williams "Quarterly" for March, 
18.56. 

beauteous night ; the stars look brightly 

down 
Upon the earth, decked in her robe of 

snow. 
No lights gleam at the windows, save my own, 
Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me. 
And now with noiseless step, sweet memory comes 
And leads me gently through her twilight realms. 
W^hat poet's tuneful lyre has ever sung. 
Or delicatest pencil e'er portrayed 
The enchanted, shadowy land where memory dwells; 
It has its valleys, cheerless, lone, and drear. 
Dark-shaded by the mournful cypress tree ; 
And yet its sunUt mountain-tops are bathed 
In heaven's own blue. Upon its craggy cliflfs, 
Robed in the dreamy light of distant years, 
Are clustered joys serene of other days. 
Upon its gently sloping hillsides bend > 




500 



MISCELLANEOtrS MASTEEPIECES. 



The weeping willows o'er the sacred dust 
Of dear departed ones ; yet in that land, 
Where'er our footsteps fall upon the shore, 
They that were sleeping rise from out the dust 
Of death's lung, silent years, and round us stand 
As erst they did before the prison tomb 
Received their clay within its voiceless halls. 
The heavens that bend above that land are hung 
With clouds of various hues. Some dark and chill, 

- Surcharged with sorrow, cast their sombre shade 

I Upon the sunny, joyous land below. 

; Others are floating through the dreamy air, 
White as the ftdling snow, their margins tinged 
With gold and crimson hues ; their shadows fall 
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes, 
Soft as the shadow of an angel's wing. 
When the rough battle of the day is done. 
And evening's peace falls gently on the heart, 
I bound away, across the noisy years, 
Unto the utmost verge of memory's land, 
Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet, 
And memory dim with dark oblivion joins ; 
Where woke the first remembered sounds that fell 
Upon the ear in childhood's early mom ; 
And, wandering thence along the rolling years, 
I see the shadow of my former self 
Gliding from childhood up to man's estate ; 
The path of youth winds down through many a vale, 
And on the brink of many a dread abyss. 
From out whose darkness comes no ray of light. 
Save that a phantom dances o'er the gulf 
And beckons toward the verge. Again the path 
Leads o'er the summit where the sunbeams fall ; 
And thus in light and shade, .sunshine and gloom, 
Sorrow and joy this life-path leads along. 



ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC. 

BY ETHELINDA ELLIOTT BEERS. 

Born in New York, 1827 ; died in New Jersey, 1879. 

The followinir poem first appeared in "Harper's 
Weekly "in 1861. and being published anonymously 
its authorship was, saj'S Mr. Stedman, "falsely 
claimed by several persons." 

LL quiet along the Potomac, they say, 

" Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 
By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
'Tis nothing ; a private or two, now and then, 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost — only one of the men, 
^loaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; 




Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 
Or the light of the watchfires, are gleaming. 

A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind 
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping ; 

While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 
Keep guard — for the army is sleeping. 

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread 

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain. 
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, 

Far away in the cot on the mountain. 
His musket falls slack ; his face, dark and grim, 

Grows gentle with memories tender. 
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep. 

For their mother — may Heaven defend her ! 

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then. 

That night when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to his Ups — when low, murmured vows 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken ; 
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, 

He dashes ofl' tears that are welling. 
And gathers his gun closer up to its place. 

As if to keep down the heart-swelling. 

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree — 

The footstep is lagging and weary ; 
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light. 

Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. 
Hark I was it the night- wind that rustled the leaves? 

Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing ? 
It looked like a rifle : " Ha I Mary, good-by 1 " 

And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night — 
No sound save the rush of the river ; 

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead— 
The picket's ofl' duty forever. 



i 



A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE. 

BY EPES SARGENT. 

Born 1813 ; died 1880. The following beautiful 
and popular song, sung all over the world, like 
" Home, Sweet Home," is by an American author. It 
is one of those bits of lyric verse which will perpetu- 
ate the name of its writer longer, perhaps, then any 
of the many books which he gave to the world. 

LIFE on the ocean wave, 

A home on the rolling deep ; 
Where the scattered waters rave, 
And the winds their revels keep I 
Like an angel caged I pine. 

On this dull, unchanging shore : 
0, give me the flashing brine, 
The spray and the tempest's roar I 




MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



501 



Once more on the deck I stand, 

Of my own swift-gliding craft: 
Set sail ! farewell to the land ; 

The gale follows fair abaft. 
We shoot through fhe sparkling foam, 

Like an ocean-bird set free, — 
Like the ocean-bird, our home 

We'll find far out on the sea. 

The land is no longer in view. 

The clouds have begun to frown ; 
But with a stout vessel and crew, 

We'll say, " Let the storm come down I ' 
And the song of our hearts shall be, 

While the winds and the waters rave, 
A home on the rolling sea ! 

A hfe on the ocean wave ! 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

BY F. M. FINCH. 

Born in Ithaca, N. Y., 1827. 

Many of the women of the South, animated by 
noble sentiments, liave shown tliemselves impartial 
In their ofTerings made to tlie memory of the dead. 
They have strewn flowers alike on the graves of the 
Confederate and of the National soldiers. 

the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
^Vhere the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 

Asleep on the ranks of the dead : 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the one, the Blue, 

Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glnry. 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willnw, the Gray. 

From the sUence of sorrowful hours, 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers. 

Alike for the friend and the foe : — 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 





And 



With a touch imparl ially fender, 

On the blossoms blonming fur all: — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Briiidered with guld, the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 
On forest and field of grain 
With an equal murmur fallelh 
The cooling drip of the rain : — 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the iudgment day; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
The generous deed wa.s done ; 
In the storm of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Wuiiing the judgment day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
Under the snd and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



ROLL-CALL. 

BY NATHANIEL P, SHEPHERD. 

Born in New York, 1835 ; died 1869. 

ORPORAL GREEN ! " the orderly cried ; 
" Here ! " was the answer, loud and clear. 
From the lips of the soldier who stood 
near — 
here ! " was the word the next replied. 



So, with an equal splendor. 
The morning sun-rays fall, 



" Cyrus Drew ! '' — then a silence fell — 
This time no answer fillowed the call ; 
Only his rear-man had seen him fall. 

Killed or wounded, he could not tell. 

There they stood in the failing hght, 

These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, 
As plain to be read as open books, 

While slowly gathered the shades of night. 

The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, 
And down in the corn where the poppies grew 



502 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



Were redder stains than the poppies knew ; 
And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. 

For the foe had crossed from the other side 
That day. in the face of a murderous fire 
That swept tbem down in its terrible ire ; 

And their hfe-blood went to color the tide. 

^'' Herbert Kline ! " At the call there came 
Two stalwart soldiers into the line 
Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, 

Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. 

" Ezra Kerr ! " and a voice answered. " here ! " 
" Hiram Kerr ! " — but no man replied. 
They were brothers, these two ; the sad winds 
sighed. 

And a shudder crept through the cornfield near. 

" Ephraim Deane 1 "' — then a soldier spoke : 

" Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said; 
" Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead. 

Just after the enemy wavered and broke. 

" Close to the roadside bis body lies ; 

I paused a moment and gave him drink ; 

He murmured his mother's name. I think, 
And death came with it and closed his eyes." 

Twas a victory ; yes. but it cost us dear — 
For that company's roll, when called at night. 
Of a hundred men who went into the fight, 

Numbered but twenty that answered, " Here ! " 



THEOLOGY IX THE QUARTERS. 

BY J. A. MACON. 

Born in Alabama, 1851. 
Author of " Uncle Gab Tucker." 

The following dialect verses are a faitlif'ul repro- 
duction, not only of the negro dialect of tlie cotton 
sections of the South ; but iThe genius of Mr. Macon 
has subtly embodied in this and other of liis writing? 
a shadow)- but true picture of the peculiar and orig- 
inal philosophy and humor of the poor but happy 
black people of the section witli which he is so fa- 
miliar. 




OW, I's got a notion in my head dat when 
you come to die. 
An' Stan' de 'zamination in de Cote-house 
in de sky, 
you'li be 'stonished at de questions dat de angel's 

gnine to ax 
When be sits you on de witness-stan' an' pin you to 
de fac's; 



'Cause he'll as you mighty closely 'bout your doin'a 

in de night, 
An' de water-milion question's gwine to bodder you a | 

sight! 
Den your eyes'll open wider dan dey ebber done befo' 
When he chats jou bout a chicken-scrape dat hap- 
pened long ago ! 
De angels on the picket-line erlong de Jlilky Way 
Keep a-watchin' what you're dribin' at, an' hearin' '. 

what you say ; 
No matter what you want to do, no matter whar i 

you's gwine, 
Dey's mighty ap' to find it out an' pass it 'long de 

line ; 
An' of en at de meetin', when you make a fuss an' 

laugh, 
Why, dey send de news a-kitin' by de golden tele- 

gra|;h ; 
Den, de angel in de orfis. what's a settin' by de gate, 
Jes' reads de message wid a look an' clais it on de 

slate ! 
Den j'ou better do your jut}' well an' keep your con- 
science clear. 
An' keep a-lookin' straight ahead an' watchin' whar 

you steer; 
'Cause arter while de time'll come to journey fum de 

Ian', 
An' dey'll take j'ou way up in de a'r an' put you on 

de .Stan' ; 
Den you'll hab to Ikten to de clerk an' answer mighty 

straight, 
Ef you ebber "spec' to t rabble froo de alaplaster gate I 



RUIN AVROUGHT BY RUM. 

(temperance selection.) 

]0, feel what I have felt, 

(io. bear what I have borne; 
Sink neath a blow a lather dealt. 

And tlie cold, proud world's scorn. 
Thus struggle on from year to year, 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 



Go, weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall ; 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go. kneel as I have knelt; 

Implore, be.seech and pray. 
Strive the besotted heart to melt. 

The downward course to stay ; 
Be cast with l)itter curse aside, — 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 




MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



533 



I 



Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow ; 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, 

And cold and livid brow ; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored liis soul's misery. 

Go. hear what I have heard, — 

The sobs of sad despair. 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been, 

Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen. 

Go to my mother's side, 

And her crushed spirit cheer ; 
Thine own deep anguish hide, 

Wipe from her cheek the tear ; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now. 
The toil-worn franje, the trembling limb. 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth, 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup. 
And led her down from love and light. 
From all that made her pathway bright, _ 
And chained her there 'mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife ! 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild. 
That withering blight, — a drunkard's child 1 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known, 

Then look within the wine-cup's glow ; 
See if its brightness can atone ; 

Think of its flavor would you try. 

If all proclaimed, — ' Tis drink aiid die. 

Tell me I hate the bowl, — 

Hute is a feeble word ; 
I loathe, abhor, my very soul 

By strong disgust is stirred 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of the DAEK BEVERAGE OF HELL ! 

Anonymous. 



TO A SKELETON. 

The MS. of this poem was found in the Museum 
of the Royal College of Surgeons, in London, near a 
perfect human skeleton, and sent by the curator to 
the "Mornins Chronicle" for publication. It excited 
80 much attention that every eifort was made to dis- 
cover the autlior, and a responsible party went so far 
as to oflfer fiftv suineas for information that would 
discover its nri'sin. Tlie author preserved his incog- 
nito, and, we believe, has never been discovered. 




EHOLD this ruin ! 'Twas a skull, 
Once of ethereal spirit full. 
This narrow cell was life's retreat. 
This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot. 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot ? 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, 
Have left one trace of record here. 



Beneath this moldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void ; 

If social love that eye em)iloyed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed. 

But throtigh the dews of kindness beamed,— ' 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and sun are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 
The ready, swift, and tunefid tongue; 
If falsehood's honey it disdained. 
And when it could not praise was chained; 
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke. 
Yet gentle concord never broke, — 
This silent tongue shall plead for thee 
When time unveils eternity I 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
Or with the envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear a gem 
Can little now avail to them. 
But if the page of truth they sought,. 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on wealth and fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
These i'eet the paths of duty trod? 
If from tie bowers of ease they fled. 
To seek affliction's humble shed ; 
If grandeur's guilty brilie they spurned, 
And home to virtue's cot returned, — 
These feet with angel wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky ! 



PLEDGE WITH WINE. 

(a TEMPERANCE SELECTION.) 

LEDGE with wine— pledge with wine!" 
cried the young and thoughtless Harry 
Wood. " Pledge with wine," ran through 
the brilliant crowd. 

The beautiful bride grew pale — the decisive hour 
had come, — she pressed her white hands together, 




504 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



and the leaves of her bridal wreath trembled on her 
pure brow ; her breath came quicker, her heart beat 
wilder. From her childhood she had been must 
solemnly opposed to the use of all wines and liquors. 

" Yes, Marion, lay aside your scrujjles for this 
once." said the judge in a low tone, going towards 
his daughter, " the company expect it ; do not so 
seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette ; — in 
your own house act as you please ; but in mine, for 
this once please me." 

Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. 
Marion's principles were well known. Henry had 
been a convivialist, but of late his friends noticed the 
change in his manners, the difference in his habits — 
and to-night they watched him to see, as they sneer- 
ingly said, if he was tied down to a woman's opinion 
so soon. 

Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with 
tempting smiles toward Marion. She was very pale, 
though more composed, and her hand shook not, as 
smiling back, she gratefully accepted the crystal 
tempter and raised it to her lips. But scarcely had 
she done so, when every hand was arrested by her 
piercing exclamation of " Oh, how terrible ! " " M'hat 
is it?" cried one and all, thronging together, for she 
had slowly carried the glass at arm's length, and was 
fixedly regarding it as though it were some hideous 
object. 

" Wait," she answered, while an inspired light 
shone from her dark eyes, " wait and I will tell you. 
I see," she added, slowly pointing one jeweled finger 
at the sparkling ruby hquid, '' a sight that beggars 
all description ; and yet listen ; I will paint it for you 
if I can : It is a lonely spot ; tall mountains, crowned 
with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around ; a river 
runs through, and bright flowers grow to the water's 
edge. There is a thick, warm mist that the sun 
seeks vainly to pierce ; trees, lofty and beautiful, 
wave to the airy motion of the birds ; but there, a 
group of Indians gather ; they flit to and fro with 
something like sorrow upon their dark brows ; and in 
their midst lies a manly form, but his cheek, how 
deathly ; his eye wild with the fitful fire of fever. 
One friend stands beside him, nay, I should say 
kneels, for he is pillowing that poor head upon his 
breast. 

" Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy-looking 



brow ! Why should death mark it, and he so young? 
Look how he throws the damp curls ! see him clasp 
his hands ! hear his thrilling shrieks for life ! maik 
how he clutches at the form of his companion, im- 
ploring to be saved. Oh ! hear him call piteously 
his father's name ; see him twine his fingers together 
as he shrieks for his sister — his only sister — the twin 
of his soul — weeping for him in his distant native 
land. 

" See ! " she exclaimed, while the bridal party 
shrank back, the untasted wine trembling in their 
faltering grasp, and the judge fell, overpowered, upon 
his seat ; " see ! his arms are lifted to heaven ; he 
prays, how wildly, for mercy ! hot fever rushes through 
his veins. The friend beside him is weeping ; awe- 
stricken, the dark men move silently, and leave the 
living and dying together." 

There was a hush in that princely jiarlur, broken 
only by what seemed a smothered sob, from some 
manly bosom. The bride stood yet upright, with 
quivering lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge 
of her lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its tension, 
and the glass, with its little troubled red waves, 
came slowly towards the range of her vision. She 
spoke again ; every lip was mute. Her voice was 
low, faint, yet awfully distinct: she s.ill lixed her 
sorrowful glance upon the wine-cup. 

" It is evening now ; the great white moon b 
coming up, and her beams lie gently on his forehead. 
He moves not ; his eyes are set in their sockets ; dim 
are their piercing glances ; in vain his friend whispers 
the name of father and sister — death is there. Death ! 
and no soft hand, no gentle voice to bless and soothe 
him. His head sinks back ! one convulsive shudder! 
he is dead ! " 

A groan jan through the assembly, so vivid was 
her description, so unearthly her look, so inspired her 
manner, that what she described seemed actually to 
have taken place then and there. They noticed also, ■ 
that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands and was 
weeping. 

" Dead ! " she repeated again, her lips quivering 
faster and faster, and her voice more and more broken: 
" and there they scoop him a grave ; and there, with- 
out a shroud, they lay him down in the damp, reek- 
ing earth. The only son of a proud father, the only 
idolized brother of a fond sister. And he sleeps to- 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



505 



day in that distant country, with no stone to mark 
the spot. There he lies — my father's son — my own 
twin brother ! a victim to this deadly poison. 
Father," she exclaimed, turning suddenly, while the 
tears rained down her beautiful cheeks, " father, shall 
I drink it now ? " 

The form of the old judge was convulsed with 
agony. He raised his head, but in a smothered 
voice he faltered — " No, no, my child ; in God's 
name, no." 

She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it sud- 
denly fall to the floor it was dashed into a thousand 
pieces. Many a tearful eye watched her movements, 
and instantaneously every wine-glass was transferred 
to the marble table on which it had been prepared. 
Then, as she looked at the fragments of crystal, she 
turned to the company, saying : " Let no friend, 
hereafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul 
fur wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than my 
resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste that 
terrible poison. And he to whom I have given my 
hand ; who watched over my brother's dying form in 
that last solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer 
there by the river in that land of gold, will, I trust, 
sustain me in that resolve. Will you not, my hus- 
band?" 

His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile was her 
answer. 

The judge left the room, and when an hour later 
he returned, and with a more subdued manner took 
part in the entertainment of the bridal guests, no one 
could fail to read that he, too, had determined to dash 
the enemy at once and forever from his princely 
rooms. 

Those who were present at that wedding can never 
forget the impression so solemnly made. Slany from 
that hour forswore the social a;lass. 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT 

CAPUA. 

BY ELIJAH KELLOG. 

Born in Portland, Maine, 1813. Spartacus was a 
Thraciau soldier, who was taken prisoner by the Ro- 
mans, made a slave, and trained as a gladiator. He 
escaped with a number of fellow-gladiators, an inci- 
dent to whicli this speech is supposed to refer to. 
He was killed in battle 71 B. C, while leading the 
Servile War against Rome. 




T had been a day of triumph in Capua. 
Lentulus, returning with victorious eagles, 
had amused the populace with the sports 
of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown 
even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry 
had died away ; the roar of the lion had ceased ; the 
last loiterer had retired from the banquet ; and the 
lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. 
The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, sil- 
vered the dewdrbps on the corslet of the Roman sen- 
tinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus 
with a wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard, 
save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its 
story to the smooth pebbles of the beach ; and then 
all was as still as the breast when the spirit has de- 
parted. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a 
band of gladiators were assembled ; their muscles 
still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon 
their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their 
brows ; when Spartacus, arising in the midst of that 
grim assembly, thus addressed them : 

"Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call hiin 
chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the 
arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire 
of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered 
his arm. If there be one among you who can say 
that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions 
did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. 
If there be three in all your company dare face me 
on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I 
was not always thus, — a hired butcher, a savage 
chief of still more savage men ! My ancestors came 
from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad 
rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life 
ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; and 
when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the 
shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there 
was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the 
pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and 
partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after 
the sheep were folded, and we were all seated be- 
neath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my 
grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and 
Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little band of 
Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood 
a whole army. I did not then know what war was ; 
but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped 



5o6 



MISCELLAIfEOTJS MASTERPIECES. 



the knees of that venerable man, until mj' mother, 
parting the hair from oif my forehead, kissed my 
throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think 
no more of those old tales and savage wars. That 
very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw 
the breast that had nourished me trampled by the 
hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my 
father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwell- 
ing ! 

" To-day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I 
broke his helmet-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. 
He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — the 
same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked^ 
when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty 
cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them 
home in childish triumph. I told the praetor that 
the dead man had been my friend, generous and 
brave ; and I begged that I might bear away the 
body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over 
its ashes. Ay I upon my knees, amid the dust and 
blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all 
the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy vir- 
gins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in de- 
rision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's 
fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of 
that piece of bleeding clay ! And the prastor drew 
back as if I were pollution, and sternly said : ' Let 
the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Romans !' 
And so, ieWow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, 
die like dogs. 0, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a 
tender nurse to me. Ay, thou hast given to that 
poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a 
harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a 
heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword through 
plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it 
in the marrow of his foe ; — to gaze into the glaring 
eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy 
upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, 
until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in 
its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! 

" Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The 
strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but 
to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet per- 
fume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers 
pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your 
blood. Hark 1 hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 
'Tis three days since he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow 



he shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal 
for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts, then stand 
here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! 
If ye are men, — follow me ! Strike down yon guard,! 
gain the mountain-passes, and there do bloody work, 
as did your sires at Old Thermopylae ! Is Sparta 
dead ? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, 
that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound 
beneath his master's lash ? comrades ! warriors ! 
Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for our-m 
selves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter ouri* 
oppressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear 
sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle 1" 



THE CRABBED MAN. 

(Extract from a Lecture.) 

' BY T. DE WITT TALMAGE. 

Born 1832. One of the most eminent orators of 
the American pulpit. 

F all the Uls that flesh is heir to, a cross, 
crabbed, Hi-contented man is the most unen- 
durable, because the most inexcusable. No 
occasion, no matter how trifling, is permitted to pass 
without eliciting his dissent, his sneer, or his growl. I 
His good and patient wife never yet prepared a dinner 
that he liked. One day she prepares a dish that she 
thinks will particularly please him. He comes in the 
front door, and saj's : " Whew ! whew ! what have 
you got in the house ? Now, my dear, you know that 
I never did hke codfish." Some evening, resolving to 
be especially gracious, he starts with his family to a 
place of amusement. He scolds the most of the 
way. He cannot afford the time or the money, and 
he does not believe the entertainment will be much, 
after all. The music begins. The audience are 
thrilled. The orchestra, with polished instruments, 
warble and weep, and thunder and pray — all the 
sweet sounds of the world flowering upon the strinp 
of the bass viol, and wreathing the flageolets, and 
breathing from the lips of the cornet, and shaking 
their flower-bells upon the tinkling tambourine. 

He sits motionless and disgusted. He goes home 
saying : " Did you see that fat musician that got so 
red blowing that French horn ? He looked like a 
stuffed toad. Did you ever hear such a voice as 




MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



507 



that lady has ? Why, it was a perfect squawk ! The 
evening was wasted." And his companion says : 
" Why, my dear ! " " There, you needn't tell me — 
you are pleased with everything. But never ask me 
to go again ! " He goes to church, l^erhaps the 
sermon is didactic and argumentative. He yawns. 
He gapes. He twists himself in his pew, and pre- 
tends he is asleep, and says : ■' I could not keep 
awake. Did you ever hear anything so dead? Can 
the.se dry bones live?" Next Sabbath he enters a 
church where the minister is much given to illustra- 
tion. He is still more displeased. He says : " How 
dare that man bring such every-day things into his 
pulpit ? He ought to have brought his illustrations 
from the cedar of Lebanon and the fir-tree, instead 
of the hickory and sassafras. He ought to have 
spoken of the Euphrates and the Jordan, and not of 
the Kennebec and Schuylkill. He ought to have 
mentiuned Mount Gerizim instead of the Catskills. 
Why, he ought to be disciplined. Why, it is 
ridiculous." Perhaps afterward he joins the church. 
Then the church will have its hands full. He growls 
and groans and whines all the way up toward the 
gate of heaven. He wishes that the choir would 
sing differently, tha." the minister would preach 
differently, that the elders would pray differently. In 
the morning, he said, " The church was as cold as 
Greenland ; " in the evening, " It was hot as blazes." 
They painted the church ; he didn't like the color. 
They carpeted the aisles ; he didn . like the figure. 
They put in a new furnace ; he didn't like the 
patent. He wriggles and squirms, and frets and 
stews, and worries himself He is like a horse, that, 
prancing and uneasy to the bit, worries himself into 
a lather of foam, while the horse hitched beside him 
just pulls straight ahead, makes no fuss, and comes 
to his oats in peace. Like a hedge-hog, he is all 
quills. Like a crab that, you know, always goes the 
other way, and moves backward in order to go for- 
ward, and turns in four directions all at once, and the 
first you know of his whereabouts you have missed 
him, and when he is completely lost he has gone by 
the heel — so that the first thing you know you don't 
know anything — and while you expected to catch the 
crab, the crab catches you. 

So some men are crabbed — all hard-shell and 
obstinacy and opposition. I do not see how he is to 



get into heaven, unless he goes in backward, and 
then there will be danger that at the gate he will try 
to pick a quarrel with St. Peter. Once in, I fear he 
will not hke the music, and the services will be too 
long, and that he will spend the first two or three 
years in trying to find out whether the wall of heaven 
is exactly plumb. Let us stand off' from such 
tendencies. Listen for sweet notes rather than dis- 
cords, picking up marigolds and harebells in preference 
to thistles and coloquintida, culturing thyme and ane- 
mones rather than night-shade. And in a world 
where God has put exquisite tinge upon the shell 
washed in the surf, and planted a paradise of bloom 
in a child's cheek, and adorned the pillars of the rock 
by hanging tapestry of morning mist, the lark 
saying, " I will sing soprano," and the cascade re- 
plying, " I will carry the bass," let us leave it to the 
owl to hoot, and the frog to croak, and the bear to 
growl, and the grumbler to find fault. 



PUTTING UP 0' THE STOVE; OR, THE 

RIME OF THE ECONOMICAL 

HOUSEHOLDER. 




HE melancholy days have come that no 
householder loves. 
Days of taking down of blinds and putting 
up of stoves ; 
The lengths of pipe forgotten he in the shadow of the 

shed, 
Dinged out of symmetry they be and all with rust 

are red ; 
The husband gropes amid the mass that he placed 

there anon, 
And swears to find an elbow-joint and eke a leg are 
gone. 

So fared it with good Mister Brown, when his spouse 

remarked : " Behold ! 
Unless you wish us all to go and catch our deaths ot 

cold. 
Swift be yon stove and pipes from out their storing 

place conveyed. 
And to black-lead and set them up, lo ! I will lend 

my aid." 

This, Mr. Brown, he trembling heard, I trow his 

heart was sore. 
For he was married many years, and had been there 

before, 



5o8 



MISCELLANEOrS MASTERPIECES, 



^nd timidly he said, " My love, perchance, the better 

plan 
'Twere to hie to the tinsmith's shop and bid him send 

a man ? " 

His spouse replied indignantly : " So you would have 

me then 
To waste our substance upon riotous tinsmith's 

journeymen ? 
'A penny saved is twopence earned,' rash prodigal of 

pelf. 
Go! false one, go! and I will black and set it up 

myself.'' 

When thus she spoke the husband knew that she had 

sealed his doom ; 
" Fill high the bowl with Samian lead and gimme 

down that broom," 
He cried ; then to the outhouse marched. Apart the 

doors he hove 
And closed in deadly conflict with his enemy, the 

stove. 

EODND 1. 

They faced each other ; Brown, to get an opening 

spaiTed 
4droitly. His antagonist was cautious — on its 

guard. 
Brown led off with his left to where a length of 

stovepipe stood. 
And nearly cut his fingers oflF. ( The stove allowed 

first blood.) 

Round 2. 

Brown came up swearing, in Graeco-Roman style. 
Closed with the stove, and tugged and strove at it a 

weary while ; 
At last the leg he held gave way ; flat on his back 

fell Brown, 
And the stove fell on top of him and claimed the 

First Knock-down. 

* * * The fight is done and Brown has won ; his 

hands are rasped and sore. 
And perspiration and black-lead stream from his 

every pore ; 
Sternly triumphant, as he gives his prisoner a shove. 
He cries, " Where, my good angel, shall I put this 

blessed stove ? " 

And calmly Mrs. Brown to him she indicates the 

spot. 
And bids him keep his temper, and remarks that he 

looks hot. 
And now comes in the sweat o' the day ; the Brown 

holds in his gripe 



And strives to fit a sis-inch joint into a five-indiij 
pipe; I 

He hammers, dinges, bends, and shakes, while hisi| 
wife scornfully 

Tells him how she would manage if only she were he. 

At last the joints are joined, they rear a pyramid in 

au\ 
A tub upon the table, and upon the tub a chair, 
And on chair and supjjorters are the stovepipe and 

the Brown, 
Like the lion and the unicorn, a-fighting for the 

crown ; 
While Mistress Brown, she cheerilv says to him, " I 

expec' 
'Twould be just like your clumsiness to fall and break 

your neck." 

Scarce were the piteous accents said before she was 

aware 
Of what might be called " a miscellaneous music in 

the air." 
And in wild crash and confusion upon the floor rained 

down 
Chairs, tables, tubs, and stovepipes, anathemas, and 

— Brown. 

There was a moment's silence — Brown had fallen on 

the cat ; 
She was too thick for a book-mark, but too thin for 

a mat ; 
And he was all wounds and bruises, from his head to 

his foot, 
And seven breadths of Brussels were ruined with the 

soot. 

" wedded love, how beautiful, how sweet a thing 

thou art ! " 
Up from her chair did l\Iistress Brown, as she saw 

him falling, start. 
And shrieked aloud as a sickening fear did her 

inmost heartstrings gri]ie, 
" Josiah Winterhotham Brown, have you gone and 

smashed that pipe ? " 

Then fiercely starts that Blr. Brown, as one that had 

been wode. 
And big his bosom swelled with wrath, and red his 

visage glowed ; 
Wild rolled his eye as he made reply (and his voice 

was sharp and shrill), 
" I have not, madam, but, by— bv — bv the nine gods, 

I will!" 



He swung the pipe above his head ; he dashed it on 
the floor. 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



509 




And that stovepipe, as a stovepipe, it did exist no 

more ; 
Then he strode up to his shrinking wife, and his face 

was stern and wan, 
And in a hoarse, changed voice he hissed ; 

" Send for that tinsmith's man I " 



THE POOR INDIAN! 

KNOW him by his falcon eye, 

His raven tress and mien of pride ; 
Those dingy draperies, as they fly. 
Tell that a great soul throbs inside ! 



No eagle-feathered crown he wears, 

Capping in pride his kingly brow ; 
But his crownless hat in grief declares, 

" I am an unthroned monarch now 1 " 

" noble son of a royal line ! " 

I exclaim, as I gaze into his face, 
" How shall I knit my soul to thine ? 

How right the wrongs of thine injured race? 

" What shall I do for thee, glorious one ? 
To soothe thy sorrows my soul aspires. 
Speak ! and say how the Saxon's son 

May atone for the wrongs of his ruthless sires I " 

He speaks, he speaks ! — that noble chief ! 

From his marble lips deep accents come ; 
And I catch the sound of his mighty grief, — 

" Pie' gi me tree cent for git some rum ? " 



JENKINS GOES TO A PICNIC. 

i ARIA ANN recently determined to go to a 
picnic. 

Maria Ann is my wife — unfortunately 
she bad planned it to go alone, so far as I am con- 
cerned, on that picnic excursion ; but when I heard 
about it, I determined to assist. 

She pretended she was very glad ; I don't believe 
she was. 

" It will do you good to get away from your work 
a day, poor fellow," she said ; " and we shall so much 
enjoy a cool morning ride on the cars, and a dinner 
in the woods." 

On the morning of that day, Maria Ann got up at 
five o'clock. About three minutes later she disturbed 




my slumbers, and told me to come to breakfast. I 
told her I wasn't hungry, but it didn't make a bit of 
difference, I had to get up. The sun was up ; I had 
no idea that the sun began his business so early in 
the morning, but there he was. 

" Now," said Maria Ann, '■ we must fly around, 
for the cars start at half-past six. Eat all the break- 
fast you can, for you won't get anything more before 
noon." 

I could not eat anything so early in the morning. 
There was ice to be pounded to go around the pail of 
ice cream, and the sandwiches to be cut, and I 
thought I would never get the legs of the chicken 
fixed so I could get the cover on the big basket. 
Maria Ann flew around and piled up groceries for me 
to pack, giving directions to the girl about taking 
care of the house, and putting on her dress all at 
once. There is a deal of energy in that woman, 
perhaps a trifle too much. 

At twenty minutes past six I stood on the front 
steps, with a basket on one arm and INIaria Ann's 
waterproof on the other, and a pail in each hand, and 
a bottle of vinegar in my coat-skirt pocket. There 
was a camp-chair hung on me somewhere, too, but I 
forget just where. 

" Now," said Maria Ann, " we must run or we 
shall not catch the train." 

" Maria Ann," said I, " that is a reasonable idea. 
How do you suppose I can run with all this freight? " 

" You must, you brute. You always try to tease 
me. If you don't want a scene on the street, you 
will start, too." 

So I ran. 

I had one comfort, at least. Maria Ann fell down 
and broke her parasol. She called me a brute again 
because I laughed. She drove me all the way to the 
depot at a brisk trot, and we got on the cars ; but 
neither of us could get a seat, and I could not find a 
place where I could set the things down, so I stood 
there and held them. 

" Maria," I said, '■ how is this for a cool morning 
ride?" 

Said she, " You are a brute, Jenkins." 

Said I, " Y'ou have made that observation before, 
my love." 

I kept my courage up, yet I knew there would be 
an hour of wrath when we got home. While we 
were getting out of the cars, the bottle in my coat- 



5IO 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



pocket broke, and consequently I had one boot half- 
full of vinegar all day. That kept me pretty quiet. 
and Maria Ann ran off with a big whiskered music- 
teacher, and lost her fan, and got her feet wet, and 
tore her dress, and enjoyed herself so ?)iuc/i, after the 
fashion of picnic-goers. 

I thought it would never come dinner-time, and 
Maria Ann called me a pig because I wanted to open 
our basket before the rest of the baskets were opened. 

At last dinner came — the " nice dinner in the 
woods," you know. Over three thousand little red 
ants had got into our dinner, and they were worse to 
pick out than fish-bones. The ice-cream had melted, 
and there was no vinegar for the cold meat, except 
what was in my boot, and, of course, that was of no 
immediate use. The music-teacher spilled a cup of 
hot coffee on Maria Ann's head, and pulled all the 
frizzles out trying to wipe off the coffee with his 
handkerchief. Then I sat on a piece of raspberry- 
pie, and spoiled my white pants, and concluded I 
didn't want anything more. I had to stand up 
against a tree the rest of the afternoon. The day 
offered considerabU variety, compared to everyday 
life, but there were so many drawbacks that I did not 
enjoy it so much as I might have done. 



SEWING ON A BUTTON. 

BY J. M. BAILEY. 

T is bad enough to see a bachelor sew on a 
button, but he is the embodiment of grace 
al(jngside of a married man. Necessity has 
compelled experience in the case of the former, 
but the latter has always depended upon some one 
else for this service, and fortunately, for the sake of 
society, it is rarely he is obliged to resort to the 
needle himself. Sometimes the patient wife scalds 
her right hand or runs a sliver under the nail of the 
index finger of that hand, and it is then the man 
clutches the needle around the neck, and forgetting 
to tie a knot in the thread commences to put on the 
button. It is always in the morning, and from five 
to twenty minutes after he is expected to be down 
street. He lays the button exactly on the site of its 
predecessor, and pushes the needle through one eye, 
and carefully draws the thread after, leaving about 
three inches of it sticking up for a leeway. He says 




to himself, — " Well, if women don't have the easiest 
time I ever see." Then he comes back the other 
way, and gets the needle through the cloth well 
enough, and lays himself out to find the eye, but in 
spite of a great deal of patient jabbing, the needle 
point persists in bucking against the solid parts of 
that button, and, finally, when he loses patience, his 
fingers catch the thread, and that three inches he 
had left to hold the button slips through the eye 
in a twinkling, and the button rolls leisurely across 
the floor. He picks it up without a single remark, 
out of respect to his children, and makes another 
attempt to fasten it. This time when coming back 
with the needle he keeps both the thread and button 
from slipping by covering them with his thumb, and 
it is out of regard for that part of him that he feels 
around for the eye in a very careful and judicious 
manner; but eventually losing his philosophy as the 
search becomes more and more hopeless, he falls to 
jabbing about in a loose and savage manner, and it is 
just then the needle finds the opening, and comes 
up through the button and part way through his 
thumb with a celerity that no human ingenuity can 
guard against. Then he lays down the things, with 
a few famUiar quotations, and presses the injured 
hand between his knees, and then holds it under the 
other arm, and finally jams it into his mouth, and all 
the while he prances about the floor, and calls upon 
heaven and earth to witness that there has never 
been anything like it since the world was created, 
and howls, and whistles, and moans, and sobs. After 
awhile, he calms down, and puts on his pants, and 
fastens them together with a stick, and goes to his 
business a changed man. 



CASEY AT THE BAT. 

(Often recited by DeWolf Hopper, the comic opera 
sinser, between the acts.) 




HERE was ease in Casey's manner as he 
stepped into his place. 
There was pride in Casey's bearing, and a 
smile on Casey's face ; 
And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed 

his hat. 
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at 
the bat. 



MISCELLANEOUS MASTERPIECES. 



.'ill 



Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his 

hands with dirt, 
Five thousand tongues applauded when be wiped 

them on his shirt ; 
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into 

his hip, 
Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer curled 

Casey's lip. 

And now the leather-covered sphere came whirling 

thro' the air, 
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur 

there ; 
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped. 
"That ain't my style," said Casey, "Strike one,' 

the umpire said. 

From the benches, black with people, there went up 

a muffled roar, 
Like the beating of storm waves on a stern and 

distant shore ; 
"Kill him! kill the umpire ! " shouted some one on 

the stand. 
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey 

raised his hand. 

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage 

shone, 
He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on ; 
He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the 

spheroid flew. 
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, 

" Strike two." 

" Fraud ! " cried the maddened thousands, and the 

echo answered, " Fraud ! " 
But the scornful look from Casey, and the audience 

was awed ; 
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his 

muscles strain, 
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go 

by again. 

The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are 

clenched in hate, 
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the 

plate ; 
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets 

it go. 
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's 

blow. 

On ! somewhere in this favored land the sun is 

shining bright, 
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere 

hearts are light , 




And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere 

children shout, 
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has 

struck out. 



THE MAGICAL ISLE. 

HERE'S a magical isle in the River of Time, 
Where softest of echoes are straying ; 
And the air is as soft as a musical chime. 
Or the exquisite breath of a tropical clime 
When June with its roses is swaying. 

'Tis where memory dwells with her pure golden hue 

And music forever is flowing : 
While the low-murmured tones that come trembling 

through 
Sadly trouble the heart, yet sweeten it too, 

As the south wind o'er water when blowing. 

There are shadowy halls in that fairy-like isle, 
Where pictures of beauty are gleaming ; 

Yet the light of their eyes, and their sweet, sunny 
smile. 

Only flash round the heart with a wildering wile. 
And leave us to know 'tis but dreaming. 

And the name of this isle is the Beautiful Past, 

And we bury our treasures all there : 
There are beings of beauty too lovely to last ; 
There are blossoms of snow, with the dust o'er them 
cast ; 

There are tresses and ringlets of hair. 

There are fragments of song only memory sings. 
And the words of a dear mother's prayer ; 

There's a harp long unsought, and a lute without 
strings — 
Hallowed tokens that love used to wear. 

E'en the dead — the bright, beautiful dead — there 
arise. 
With their soft, flowing ringlets of gold : 
Though their voices are hushed, and o'er their sweet 

eyes, 
The unbroken signet of silence now lies, 
They are with us again, as of old. 

In the stillness of night, hands are beckoning there, 

And, with joy that is almost a pain. 
We delight to turn back, and in wandering there. 
Through the shadowy halls of the island so fair, 

We behold our lost treasures again. 

Oh ! this beautiful isle, with its phantom-like show, 

Is a vista exceedingly bright : 
And the River of Time, in its turbulent flow, 
Is oft soothed by the voices we heard lung ago, 

When the years were a dream of delight. 



STRAY BITS OF CHARACTER 




By Will Carleton. 



IVii/i original illustrations by Victor Perard. 



THE TOURIST. 



In art, as well as literature, there should be a vast va- 
riety of methods, for a good many kinds of people wait to 
be instructed and pleased. Besides, there is frequently a 
great diversity of moods in the same person — all of which 
must be ministered to, at one time and another. 

Some people, and perhaps all, when in certain states of 
mind, are fond of pictures brought out with photo- 
graphic accuracy ; every detail attended to ; every- 
thing provided for ; every incident faithfully re- 
ated. Others prefer only the salient points — a 
mere suggestion of items is sufficient. They have 
no time for anything more — they want the spirit, 
the soul, of the scene and situation. 

Victor Perard's work upon these pages will 
minister most to the latter class of people and 
moods. As one orator can give in ten words the 
story that another one has struggled with much 
voice and many gestures for an hour to make 
plain, so this silent story-teller dashes his 
pencil across the paper a few times, and be- 
hold ! you see just what you already may 




AT THE LUNCH STVITV 




512 



I 



r 



Stray Bits of Character 

have noticed again and again, but never before rec- 
ognized in all its possibilities. You now have be- 
fore you for a steady gaze, that of which you have 
had only a glimpse, a sketch that supplies the place 
of memory, shakes hands with imagination, and 
enables you to enjoy the scene at leisure. 

These are pictures that e.xplain themselves, or 
at least permit the gazer to furnish his own explan- 
ation — and that is the most complimentary of all i 
inative work, and produces a species of gratitude 
the minds of the audience. 
Victor Perard is one of the younger artists of 
our country. His name would indicate him to 
be of French descent ; but he is, I believe, a na- 
tive of the Greater America, which has thus far 
shown such a cheerful willingness to assimilate 
the best brain of the world. He has, however, 
lived in Paris, and contributed to some of the 
leading French illustrated journals. He is now 
living a quiet domestic life in our American metropolis, and 
has done much good work for its periodicals. 

In "The Tourist," one notices with every line of the sol- 
emn-looking individual an intense desire to get over the 
ground promptly and see everything possible on the way. 
There is something in the painful though unstudied diligence 
with which he keeps his carpet bag close to his person, that 
may enable a lively imagination to peep through its sides 
and detect notes for a forthcoming book. 




SHB OILER. 





33 



FXPECTING A CALLER. 



5-4 



Stray Bits of Character 





A WIDE-REACHING AFFAIl 



A VETERAN OF THB RANKS. 



" At the Lunch Stand " is Whit- 
tier's " Barefoot Boy," transferred 
to the city. His lips are not 
" redder still, kissed by straw- 
berries on the hill ; " nor may he be 
coated with "outwara sunshine, 
or full of "inner joy." The lux- 
urious bowl of milk and 
bread which our Quaker 
poet describes, is not his, 
even with the wooden dish 
and pewter spoon ; but he 
seems happy for the moment 
with the cup of more or less 
hot coffee which he imbibes. 
^^\W^! \ '(J!^~ '^^^W^/J/^'.'Wa^^'^^ "^'^ jaunty, independent attitude 

shows that he is bound to get all 
the good of his powerful and per- 
haps palatable beverage ; that he earned it, and 
is entitled to it. 

" The Street to the Sea " is in fact a picture 
of the sea, although the same is hardly in sight. Everything shows that we are 
approaching the great Country of the Waters. The villas in view ; the wheel- 
harrowed road, admirably foreshortened ; the deep shadows upon each side of the 
way ; human figures looming faintly in the distance ; everything, in fact, is some- 
how telling us a tale of the ocean, and we do not need our too sparse glimpse of 
the "solemn main " to tell what majestic voice will soon bring us to a halt; we al- 
most smell the salt air. 

who has hung out his latch-string 
and is waiting for a dinner to call 
upon him, is Perard with a god- 
send of material — of the kind he likes. 
There could scarcely be found a better 
wedding of shiftlessness and ingenuity. 
The primitive character of the man's 
garments is apparently not due to the 
climate alone ; he takes no thought 
of the morrow, and not much of 
the current day, so far as its 
temporal affairs are concerned. 
But the crude marks of mechani- 
cal ability are all over and around him ; 
suspender is induced, by its oblique 
to do service for two ; an elaborate coil of 
line gives opportunity of play for the largest of 
fin-bearers ; the stick in the sand guar- 
antees that his expected caller shall not 
■who's THAT COMING r' go cLWcLy wlthout experieucing the fisher- 



The lazv fisherman 








Stray Bits of Character 

man's peculiar hospitality ; and there is con- 
siderable chance that if a " bite " occurs, the 
line will waken him, as it gradually warms 
the interstice between his toes. 
" A Veteran of the Ranks " might almost be 
^^^^ Kipling's Mulvaney himself. The fatigue- 
cap, which in its jaunty pose seems 
to have vegetated and grown 
there ; the drooping mus- 
tache ; the capacious pipe ; 
are all what might have been characteristics 
of that renowned Hibernian warrior of India. 
The picture finally centres, however, in the 
eyes ; which contain a world, or at least two 
hemispheres, of shrewdness, of that sort 
which only gets about so far in life, but is 
terribly correct within its own scope. They 
also possess a certain humanity and generos- 
ity, which would be likely to act as winsome daughters of his regiment 
of martial qualities, even upon the battle-field. 




MCCLELLA.N S.^DDLE. 



" Minia- 
the most in- 
knows, there 





SHOOTING THK STKAM 
ARROW. 




'GRACIOUS GOODNESS J 



ture Men and Women " include a number of 
teresting of the genus Bab}'. As everyone 
are babies and babies, except to the par- 
ents of one. The infant is the true 
teacher and object-lesson combined ; it 
shows us the grace, although not al- 
ways the mercy and peace, of unconscious action. 
It has not been away from Heaven long enough 
to learn the deceit of this crooked world, is 
unaware that there is anything in 
ife to conceal, and acts accord- 
ingly, until taught better, or, 
perhaps, worse. These ba- 
bies, or this baby (for the 
same infant has so 
many different ways of 
acting and appearing, that these may 
all be pictures of the same) can be 
said to exhibit grace in every atti- 
tude and every position, from the Sym- 
metrical fragment of humanity on the 
mother's arm, to the tot just contem- 
plating a walking- lesson. All of them 
have a dignified simplicity. 

" Bon Voyage " shows the different Jf 

attitudes which men will take while 

intently gazing at the same object. 

It does not necessarily follow that 



ON WINGS OF HOOFS 



5i6 



Stray Bits of Character 







■ the " she " referred to is a lady ; it may be and 

> { probably is, a ship, upon which all of our captured 

gazers have friends. Each one takes his 

own peculiar posture of observation ; and 

their characters can be read from them. 

" Waiting for Orders " is a faithful and 
almost pathetic presentation of that patient, 
ong-suffering, but unreliable beast, whose 
lack of pride and hope have passed into a 
proverb. One is curious, seeing him stand- 
ing there, how life can ever manage to 
wheedle him into the idea that it is worth 
living ; but the same curiosity arises in re- 
gard to some men. We often find that these 
have stowed away upon their persons cer- 
tain grains of comfort, concerning which 
we at first failed to take note. Our utterly 
opaque friend here has pleasanter 
^^-»r experiences in the world than 
Y^"^JL, that of acting as a locomotive 



-p^O 



MINIATURE MEN AND WOMEN. 



to a cart. The dashes of the breeze, 
Che transports of the sun-bath, the 
pull at the water-bucket, the nourish- 
ment in the manger, all yield him 
tribute in a certain amount of pleas- 
ure ; he has no responsibility upon 
his mind, excepting that he is to pull 
when told to ; and although occa- 
sionally suffering maltreatment from 
the superior race in which he recognizes many 
of his own characteristics, there is no know- 
ing how soon he may revenge it all, in the twin- 
kling of a pair of heels. 

Mr. Perard discovers himself in these sketches 

to be a facile 
f^^ '^^^^^^'"X shrewd and 





technician, a 
sympathetic 



WAITING ORDERS. 



observer, and 'vis'-^^-^'' several dif 
ferent kinds of a man — all good kinds. 
Observe one thing about him : he is 
healthy and sound all through. H is work 
is calm, firm, and kind. There is heart 
4\H " ■ '" ''■■ '^^^''^ 's quite as warm a cor- 
,1^^^ "^'' ''^ ^^^^ heart for the ragamuf- 

fin as there is for the howling swell. 




BON VOVAGBt 




I>rtxvn by Chariti Dana Gibson, 



517 



•• We make no choice among the varied paths where art and letters seek for truth." 







/• 



THE ORIGIN OF A TYPE OF THE AMERICAN GIRL 

By Richard Harding Davis. 

With original illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson. 

As I know nothing of art, I must suppose that when I was 
\ asked to tell something of Charles Dana Gibson, it was as a man 
l*Sw ^ >f^ ^^^^ ^ ^^^ expected to write of him, and not as an artist. As he 
I ^*V V is quite as much of a man as he is an artist, which is saying a 

I ^®^'\ very great deal, I cannot complain of lack of subject-matter. But 

V on the other hand, it is always much easier to write about an in- 
^ ^^ dividual one knows only by reputation than of a man one knows 
^sV^ as a friend, because in the former place one goes to the 
^^^^_^_^ celebrity for the facts, and he supplies them himself, and 

^^ so has to take the responsibility of 

all that is said of him. But when you know a man intimately 
and as a friend, you tell of those things which you personally 
have found most interesting in him, and the responsibility of 
the point of view rests entirely on your own shoulders. 

The most important thing aboui Mr. 
Gibson, outside of his art, is his extreme 
youth. This is not only interesting in it- 
self, but because it promises to remain with 
him for such a very long time. When I first ,^ 
met Gibson he was twenty-four years old. 
That was in London, five years ago, and he 
is now " twenty-five years old, going on 
twenty-four," so that if he keeps oa /f— -^^^I^ 
growing at that rate, he will still be 
the youngest successful black and 
white artist in this country for 
twenty years to come, as he will 
even then, in 1914, have only 
reached his thirtieth year. Of 
course this may be an error of the 
newspaper paragraphers, or a mistake 

on the part of Gibson him^^elf, w>n » bai, owbr op the hound* 

518 




The Origin of a Type of the American Girl 



519 



/^^y^*- 



having been called the Boy Artist for 
so long dislikes to give up his crim- 
son sash and knickerbockers. But 
in any event, it is most demoralizing 
to his friends, as it has kept several 
of them to my certain knowledge at 
the age pi twenty-eight for the last 
five years, none of them caring to 
grow older until Gibson was ready 

to make the first move. 
It is always interesting to tell of 
the early struggles of great men, but 
Gibson's difficulties were not very 
severe, and were soon overcome. 
When he recounts them now, to 
show that he as well as others has 
had to toil for recognition, he leaves 
the impression with you that what 
troubled his spirit most in those days was not that his drawings were rejected, 
but that he had to climb so many flights of stairs to get them back. His work 
then was in the line of illustrated advertisements which no one wanted, and it 
was not until he knocked at the door of the office of Zi/e that he met with a 
welcome and with encouragement. In return for this early recognition, Mr. 
Gibson has lately erected and presented to that periodical a very fine eleven-story 




CONFIDENCES. 




A T^TE X t£tE. 



520 



The Origin of a Type of the American Girl 



building, on the top floor of which he occupies a large and 
magnificent studio. He ascends to this in a gilded elevator, 
scorning the stairs on which he climbed to success. His first 
contribution to Life was a sketch of a dog barking at the 
moon, which was drawn during the run of the " Mikado " in 
New York, and the picture was labelled after a very pop- 
ular song in that opera, called " The Moon and I." Mr. 
Mitchell looked at the picture of the absurd little fox-ter- 
rier barking at the round genial moon, and wrote out a 
check for four dollars for Mr. Gibson, while that young man 
sat anxiously outside in the hall with his hat between his 
knees. He then gave the check to Mr. Gibson, who re- 
sisted the temptation to look and see for how large an 
amount it might be, and asked him to let them have 
" something else." Mr. Gibson went down the stairs sev- 
eral steps at a time, without complaining of their number, 
and as he journeyed back to his home in Flushing he ar- 
gued it out in this way : " If I can get four dollars for a 
silly little picture of a dog," he said, " how much more will 
I not receive for really humorous sketches of men and 
women. I can make six drawings as good as that in an 
evening, six times four is twenty-five dollars, and six 
sketches a day, not counting Sunday, 
will bring me in one hundred and 
V twenty-five dollars a week. Fifty- 
two times one hundred and twen- 
ty-five dollars is about seven thousand a year. My income 
is assured ! " And in pursuance of this idea he actually 
sat down that night, under the lamp on the centre table, 
and drew six sketches, and the next morning took them 
to Mr. Mitchell, of Life, with a proud and confident bear- 
md Mr. Mitchell sent them all out to him again, and 
that perhaps he had better try once more. That he 
ry once more, is very well known to everybody in this 
try, and, since he exhibited in Paris last spring, to 
le on the other side of the water as well. Over there 
/ gave him a whole ■Wall to himself in the Salon of 
le Ghamp de Mars, and the French art critics were 
delighted and extravagant in their written " appre- 
\ ciations." But long before that exhibition of his 
v work, the queer running signature of C. D. Gib- 
son, with the little round circle over the i, had 
become significant and familiar. He had intro- 
duced us in those last few years to many types, and 
each possessed its own peculiar and particular virtue, 
but it was his type of the American girl which made an 

.T3e-~*«. . entire continent of American girls profoundly 

grateful. Gibson has always shown her as a 





ARGUMENT. 



AN AMKRICAN CISL. 



The Origin of a Type of the American Girl 



521 




periodicals, to 




fine and tall young person, with a beautiful face and figure, and with 
the fearlessness on her brow and in her eyes that comes from in- 
nocence and from confidence in the innocence of others toward 
her. And countless young women, from New York and Bos- 
ton to Grand Rapids and Sioux City, have emulated her erect 
carriage and have held their head as she does, and have dis- 
carded bangs in order to look like her, and fashioned their 
gowns after hers. It is as though Gibson had set up a stand- 
ard of feminine beauty and sent it broadcast through the land 
by means of the magazines and 
show his countrywomen of 
what they were capable, and of what was expected 
of them in consequence. But with all of this evi- 
dent admiration for the American woman Gibson 
is somewhat inconsistent. For he is constantly 
placing her in positions that make us fear she is 
a cynical and worldly-wise young person, and of a 
fickleness of heart that belies her looks. And 
the artist's friends are constantly 
asked why he takes such a de- 
pressing view of matrimony, and 
why he thinks American girls are 
always ready to sell themselves 
for titles, and if he is not 
a disappointed lover him- 
self, and in consequence a little 
morbid and a good deal of a 
cynic. To Mr. Gibson's friends 
these questions are as amusing as his pictures of 
ruined lives and unhappy marriages are curious, 
for it is only in his pictures that he shows cyni- 
cism, and neither in his conversation nor his con- 
duct does he ever exhibit anything but a most 
healthy and boyish regard for life and all that it 
gives. 

It is quite safe to say that Gibson is not a dis- 
appointed lover, or if he is, he has concealed the 
fact very well, and it cannot 
be said that his conduct tow- 
ard the rest of womankind 
shows the least touch of re- 
sentment. As an artist, how- 
ever, he is frequently disap- 
pointing to strangers, because 
he does not live up to the 
part, or even trouble to dress 
erly." He does not affect a 





It prop- 
pointed 



beard or wear a velvet jacket, or talk 



LB NEZ PARISIEN 



522 



The Origin of a Tjpe of the American Girl. 





of art, either of his own 

art or of that of someone 

else, and in this I think he 

shows himself much older 

than his years. People 

who talk to him of sub- " p»-»'»"- 

jecti which they suppose are in his line of work, are met by a polite look of in 

quiry, and their observations are received with a look of 

the most earnest attention. 

But he lets the subject drop when they cease talkmg. 
Like all great men, Gibson apparently thinks much more 
of the things he does indifferently well than of the one 
i-' N lllrilli^'i'6'UlA)y thing for which he is best known. He is, for instance, 
» \A\ l>====i very much better pleased when he is asked to sing " Tom- 
! \ U my Atkins," than when editors of magazines humbly supplicate for 
the entire output of his studio ; and if anyone should be so brave 
as to ask him to sing a sentimental song, his joy would know no 
bounds. His reputation as a sailor is another thing that he 
guards most jealously, and all ot this last summer art editors 
telegraphed him for promised work until the wires burned, 
while the artist was racing in a small canoe around the rock- 
bound coast of Buzzards Bay. It is certainly a very healthy 
sie;n when a young man of ' twenty-five, going on twentv 




w^m 



t»^ 



The Origin of a Type of the American Girl 



523 






IN THE TARK. 



four," can return after a nine months' residence in Pan's, and con- 
tentedly spend his first month at home seated on the tilting edge of 
a canoe in a wet bathing suit, for ten hours a day. It is also a good 
sign, and one that goes to show that Gibson is far from being spoiled ; 
that after havmg Sybil Sanderson sing and Loie Fuller dance in his 
Paris studio, before a polite circle of ambassadors 
and numerous pretenders to the throne of France, 

he can find equal entertainment in the lazy quiet 

^{^•^^»^;^v -^^^-j^iii^ of a Massachusetts fishing village, and in drawing 

. ^ \^. 1^ vJ'iKOf ' posters to advertise the local church fair. Now 

that he has given up his flannels and sweater, and 
returned to his work in New York, Mr.«Gibson has 
developed a desire to pose as a Bohemian, which 
his friends who live in hall-bedrooms resent, as they 
consider a Bohemian with a grand piano, and tap- 
estries four hundred years old, something of a curi- 
osity and a fraud. 

At present Gibson is full of a plan to bring out 
a selected number of drawings in book form, that 
they may not be lost in the cov- 
ers of the magazines, and his in- 
terest in this book is as great as 
though he did not know that his pictures are already preserved 
in the memories of many thousands, and actually in scrap-books 
and on the walls of offices and cabins and drawing-rooms. I have 
seen them myself pinned up in as far distant and various places 
as the dressing-room of a theatre in Fort Worth, Tex., and in a 
•students' club at O.xford. But it will be a great book, and it will 

be dedicated to " A Little American Girl," and only Mr. Gib- 
son's friends will know that the picture of this sweet and in- 
nocent little maiden which will appear on the fly-leaf of the 
book is of his little sister. 

I fear this article does not give a very clear idea of its 
hero, and it would be certainly incomplete if I did not add 
that among Gib- ^ /^, 

son's other wick- 
ed habits, is the 
serious one of never keeping engage- 
ments, and his friends are now trying 
to cure him by never asking him any- 
where. When he is older he may over- 
come even this, and in the meanwhile, I 
will ask those who have read this not to 
judge Mr. Gibson by what I have said 
so ineffectually of him, but by his work, 
and they will understand that the artist 
that is capable of producing it, must 
be a pretty good sort of a man himself. a world's fair grou?. 







THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 




MONG the great stages of progress of mankind in the nineteenth 
century not the least important is the development in what we may 
denominate pure thought as contrasted with applied thought; the 
former being the products of the human intellect as embraced in 
books ; the latter, man's mental products as embodied in inventions, 
machinery, and other practical results. During the century in ques- 
tion education has enormously advanced, a great multitude of our population have 
become readers and grown interested in the mission of books, and the attention of 
the world has been diverted to a remarkable extent from the purely physical to- 
wards the intellectual interests. Side by side with this advance in the number of 
readers has been the advance in the facilities for reading. The art of makingr 
books has kept full pace with the demand for them. An abundant source of ma- 
terial for paper-making has been found in the trees of our forests ; the art of type- 
setting has been enhanced by the invention of the remarkable lineotype machine; 
presses have been improved in speed and performance to an extraordinary extent, 
and books and periodicals, of a cheapness undreamed of in the past, are being 
poured upon the world like the life-giving grains from one of the great elevators 
of the West. In the view of Edward Everett Hale, an excellent authority, there 
were more books published annually in the closing years of the nineteenth century 
than were issued in all the years of human history before the opening of that 
century. 

With this interesting conclusion in view it is well to stop here and, in a 
measure, to take stock of the world's literary performance. Among the multi- 
tudinous books issued there has been a considerable proportion of worthless trash, 
much of it worse than worthless. Hundreds of books have been written of which 
it may be said that it would have been better for the world if they had never seen 
the light. There have been countless others, harmless enough, no doubt, but made 
up of thinly diluted thought and very mild platitudes that could well have been 
spared. Fortunately most of these, like Dr. Franklin's ephemera, died almost in 
the day of their birth. Towering far above the classes of books thus indicated 
there have been others instinct with new thought, passing like a fresh breeze from 
the realm of intellect across the world of man, and lifting the human race to a level 
of higher aspirations, broader conceptions, and more elevated intuitions than had 
been before attained. Of books of this kind there are fortunately many, some of 
524 



THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 525 

minor, some of major value, and a few of such surpassing- importance that they are 
akin to the levers with which Archimedes said he could have moved the earth. 
These works are not of the kind which the world stands agape for. Few or none 
of them have held a place among the "best selling" books. Some of the best 
of them were among the slowest in attaining recognition and acceptance. They 
are too far above the general level of human thought for that. But they are of 
the kind that will live ages after their momentarily successful competitors have 
been forgotten. In the centuries to come these books will be the exponents of 
the best thought of our recently ended century, the few survivors of a multitude 
of books the oreat sum of which have died and been forgotten. 

Shall we make a selection for the benefit of our readers of the names of the 
most influential of these books ? Fortunately this work has been done for us, 
and better than we could hope to perform it, by a distinguished committee of ten, 
selected from the leading writers and educators of the day. Probably a second 
ten would have differed materially in their choice of many of the names on the 
list of books selected, particularly if these ten were of other nationality than 
American; yet the names at the head of the list of selection would doubtless have 
been offered by any committee that could have been chosen. That nationality did 
not enter into the result is indicated by the fact that of the forty-seven books on 
the total list given only four of the authors were of American birth. 

With these preliminary remarks, we may state more particularly the details of 
this interesting work of selection. In December, 1900, a leading American mag-^ 
azine requested ten of the great educators and thinkers of the day to name the ten 
books published in the nineteenth century which, in their opinion, had most in- 
fluenced its thought and activities. The judges chosen were the following well- 
known men : 

Hon. James Bryce, of England, author of "The American Commonwealth;" 
Rev. Edward Everett Hale, a prominent American divine and an author of world- 
wide fame; Prof. Henry Van Dyke, holding the chair of English Literature at 
Princeton College, New Jersey ; Rev. Geo. Gordon, D. D., pastor of Old South 
Church, Boston; Prof Arthur T. Hadley, President of Yale University; Prof. An- 
drew M. Fairbairn, D. D., Principal of Mansfield College, Oxford University, Eng- 
land ; Prof. G. Stanley Hall, President of Clark University ; Prof William DeWitt 
Hyde, President of Bowdoin College; Prof William J. Tucker, President of Dart- 
mouth College; Thomas Wentworth Higglnson, a well-known American author 
and literary critic. 

These distinguished men did not act in conjunction. Independently of one 
another, each of them made up a list often books, his individual choice in response 
to the question. In all forty-seven titles were named, of which each received the 
number of votes given below: (i.) Darwin's "Origin of Species," ten votes. (2.) 
Hegel's "Logic" and "Philosophy of Religion," eight votes. (3.) Goethe's 
"Faust," six votes. (4.) Emerson's "Essays," five votes. (5.) Mrs. Stowe's 
"L^ncle Tom's Cabin," five votes. (6.) Scott's historical novels (collectively), four 
votes. (7.) Wordsworth's "Poems" and "Lyrical Ballads," four votes. (8.) 
Tennyson's "In Memoriam," four votes. (9.) Hugo's " Les Miserables," three 
votes. (10.) Ruskin's " Modern Painters," three votes. (11.) Carlyle's "Sartor 



526 THE TEN GREATEST BOOKS OF THE NIXETEEXTH CEXTURY. 

Resartus," three votes. (12.) Strauss' "Life of Jesus," three votes. The follow- 
ing works received two votes each : Carlyle's " French Revolution," De Tocque- 
ville's " Democracy in America," Renan's " Life of Jesus," Browning's " Poems," 
Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter" and other socialistic novels, Comte's "Philosophy," 
and Spencer's " System of Philosophy." The following works received one vote 
each: Mazzini's "Duties of Man," Max's " Capital," De Maistre's "The Pope," 
Malthus' "Principle of Population," Coleridge's "Aids to Reflection," Mills' "Sys- 
tem of Logic," Hamilton's "Works of Reid," Webster's speeches, Grem's "Intro- 
duction to Hume," Schopenhauer's "World as Will," Froebel's "Education," 
Sainte Beuve's "Mondays," Spencer's " Principles of Psychology," Grove's "Cor- 
relation of Forces," Champollion's "Ancient Egyptians," Carlyle's works (collec- 
tively), Newman's works (collectively), Helmholtz's "Auditory Sensation," Wag- 
ner's musical compositions, Ibsen's dramas, Owen's socialistic works, Tolstoi's so- 
cial novels. Napoleon's civil code, Mann's " Educational Reports," Bryce's " The 
American Commonwealth," Lyell's " Principles of Geology," Heine's novels, Nie- 
buhr's " History of Rome." 

If we seek to select the choice ten from the above list, we find that Darwin 
stands first, with the unanimous vote of the judges, and Hegel second, with eight 
of the ten votes. Goethe occupies the third place, with six votes, while Emerson 
and Mrs. Stowe have five votes each, and Carlyle also, if we include the two works 
named. Four votes have been given each to Scott, Wordsworth and Tennyson. 
This covers nine of the desired number, while the tenth place is contended for 
ty Strauss, Hugo and Ruskin, with three votes each, making a total of twelve 
"immortals" so far as the chosen jury was competent to decide. Among these, 
as will be seen, Darwin is the sole representative of science. Hegel represents 
metaphysical, and Emerson social and moral philosophy, while Goethe, Words- 
worth and Tennyson stand for poetry. Fiction has also three representatives,. 
Stowe, Scott and Hugo, while of the remaining three Carlyle stands for philo- 
sophical history and social satire, Strauss for religious biography, and Ruskin for 
criticism of art. 

In the words of the Outlook, the periodical spoken of, " Two impressive facts 
become clear from the study of these lists : the books selected are almost without 
exception books of spiritual liberation and of the enlargement of human interests 
and privileges. The men of letters whose works appear in these lists are those 
who might have said, with Heine, ' Lay a sword on my coffin, for I was a soldier 
in the war for the liberation of humanity.' " 



:Xibvav^ of Hnievican^ 



lHistov\>, Xitcrature anb J6ioorapb\> 

COMPLETE IN =ONE VOLUME 



American Biography 



EMBRACING THE LIVES, DEEDS AND PERSONAL TRAITS 
OF E^^NENT STATESMEN, GREAT GENERALS, NOTED 
REFORMERS, SUCCESSFUL MEN OF BUSINESS, AND DIS- 
TINGUISHED MEN IN THE VARIOUS WALKS OF LIFE ^ 



-Bn- 



A CORPS OF POPULAR BIOGRAPHERS, INCLUDING 
DR. HAMILTON W. MABIE. JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. 
PROF. W. W. BIRDSALL. PROF. EDWARD S. ELLIS, 
JAMES PARTON, HENRY FERRIS AND OTHERS 

'ilntro^uction bv 



Ie^war^ levcrctt Male, ®. S., XX. S>. 



ILLUSTRATED \\1TH 
MAGNIFICENT FULL-FAGE FHOTOGKAVURES 

rORTRXITS, AND A WEALTH Of OTHER FINE EXGRAVINCS 



American Biography 
Copyrighted 1896, 1899, 1904 



INTRODUCTION. 



BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE, D. D., 

Author of " The Man Without a Country," etc. 




THE history of mankind is made up 
of the biographies of men. This is a 
simple enough thing to say, and yet it 
would seem, from a good many histories, 
that it had never occurred to their writers. 
It is quite certain, however, that we appre- 
ciate and understand the history of our 
race most thoroughly, in those periods 
where we know of the personal lives of 
many of the actors. The periods where 
we do not know anything of individual 
lives are to us dreary deserts. For in- 
stance, it would probably be fair to say 



that the reason we 



the Dark Aofes 



that bad name, is that most of us know 
little or nothing of the personal movements 
or of individual lives of men and women 
in those ages. 
The book in the reader's hands is compiled in the effort to bring together 
the lives of a hundred men and women who have led the United States since 
the middle of the last century. It is a very remarkable series. The people of 
the United States in that time have exhibited a genius for the science of govern- 
ment, such as the world has never elsewhere seen. In a hundred and fifty years 
following the first settlement of these coasts, there grew up on the edge of the 
Atlantic Ocean thirteen States. At the time of the Revolution these States 
were strong enough to equip armies and navies, and to defeat George the Third, 
who supposed that he was the strongest monarch in Europe when the Revolu- 
tion began. The people in these thirteen States then had to organize forms of 
government wholly new for themselves and their successors. They took the 
34 529 



530 INTRODUCTION. 

traditions and methods which had been developed in a century and a half, they 
studied with care the history of Europe, and they organized a set of constitu- 
tions which have made a new era in the pohtical history of the world. In the 
first lives in this volume, the authors have tried to give to the careful reader 
some idea of the make-up of those men who engaged in work so remarkable ; il 
and we shall be disappointed if the American reader does not appreciate more 
highly the successes of the great founders of the republic, from knowing more 
intimately the details of their lives and of their education. 

It is impossible to say that all these lives differ, in any one essential quality, 
from lives which have been led under the old civilizations of the European 
world. But in almost every one of them the reader will find a certain quality 
which he does not find in the average biography of persons brought up under 
European forms. If we compare a typical American with a typical European, 
the contrast is very strong. There is sometimes an American who has been 
educated in the European forms, and there is sometimes an inhabitant of the 
old continent who has been educated in unconventional forms, and in such a 
case the contrast between these two would not be strong. But, speaking in 
general, we may say that the book in the reader's hands will give him, if he 
reads it carefully, a good conception of what we mean when we speak of the 
American type, and so it will perhaps show to him how the history of the world 
has been affected by that providence which, in the discovery of America, gavei 
white paper for the writing of its history. 



The misfortune of most biography is a certain blindness which comes over 
the writer, when he forgets that his special business is to show his hero to the 
reader, and that he is not engaged, in the first instance, to give the general 
history of the hero's time. Even Mr. Irving lapsed here when he wrote his 
Life of Washington. There are whole chapters of that life in which Washing- 
ton's name is not mentioned. More than half of it is a history of the United 
States, for the years when Washington was commander-in-chief of her army, or 
was President. On the other hand, the value of biography, as the common 
sense of the Avorld has found out, is in such writing as Plutarch's. It may be 
doubted whether Plutarch were a very large man ; it is certain that he did not 
take very noble views, either of man, of God, or of history. But Plutarch had 
the great art of being entertaining. His speculations may be foolish, but his 
narrative is interesting. Whoever will carefully study his method, will see that 
there was perhaps an advantage to Plutarch that he wrote before the days of 
printing, and, in most cases, some centuries after the men had died whom he 
described. The law of selection applied, therefore, for those things which were 
Interesting about these men were still remembered, while the uniuterestitig 



I 



INTRODUCTION. 531 

things had sunk to the bottom and were forgotten, — by the mere law of the 
attraction of gravitation, one might say. Plutarch writes what had proved to 
interest mankind, and leaves the rest unwritten. And what is it that interests 
mankind ? Infallibly it is the narrative of events, if that narrative be enlivened 
by the personal characteristics of men engaged in the affair. In Plutarch's case 
the most vivid of such characteristics shone through the dust and mist and 
smoke of centuries. He recorded what he knew, and did not record the rest, 
because he could not. 

The reader of this volume will find, as I hope, that the various accomplished 
authors who have been engaged in it have been working on the principle which 
is illustrated in Plutarch's great success. We shall be disappointed if readers 
do not see how the personality of such great men has affected the time in which 
they lived. They ought to learn that what is called the drift of history, or the 
order of events, really results from the original life and purpose of the men and 
women who make up history. 

The European critics of American life, who have never seen American life 
with their own eyes, are apt to construct a theory regarding us and our history 
which has no real foundation. John Stuart Mill, for instance, at many different 
times, expressed his opinion that in a social order resting upon universal 
suffrage, men will be forced by the pressure of a common life into a certain 
average existence, in which each man will resemble each other man, quite as so 
many shoe-pegs resemble each other when they are cut by the same machine. 
Mr. Mill does not say so, but if one were to give an illustration or two, he was 
afraid that an American Longfellow would be exactly like an American Lin- 
coln, or an American Franklin exactly like an American Benedict Arnold. To 
us, on this side of the water, who suppose that we are living in a world of per- 
sons curiously unlike each other, such grave criticisms as these by Mr. Mill, 
Mr. Matthew Arnold, and other critics, who are writing about that of which they 
know very little, seem amusing. The contrasts presented between different 
lives in this volume will show how little danger we are in from this source, at 
least for several centuries. 

Careful readers, asfain, will observe one distinguishing mark of American 
life, in the youth of many of the actors in our great dramas, so much younger 
are they than most of the men distinguished in similar work in the Old World, 
Thus, when the war of the Revolution began, Washington was only forty-three. 
It is amusing to see how his younger friends venerated his age. Of his aides, 
Hamilton was nineteen when he commanded a battery in New York and first 
attracted Washington's attention. Lafayette was nineteen when he was 
Wounded at Brandywine. Pickering, who was quartermaster-general when the 



532 INTRODUCTION. 

war ended, was but twenty-seven when it began. Knox was twenty-five. 
Nathan Hale, the hero of young Americans, was but twenty-one when he died 
for his country, and expressed his regret that he had but one life to give for her. 
Of the five leaders in the founding of the nation, whose biographies we 
have here, the average age when the war began was but thirty-three. Adams 
and Jefferson, as is well remembered, were so young that they lived to see the 
greatness of their country half a century after that Declaration of Independence 
with which they had been so closely connected. 

The readiness with which young men thus come forward into positions of 
trust and authority is readily accounted for by anyone who has seen the condi- 
tions of a new settlement. Those conditions mark the arrangements of a rising 
State. The new town needs every one it can call into service. If a young 
man can do a man's work, he must. To revert again to the conditions ol the 
war of the Revolution, when Burgoyne had driven in the American advance on 
the shore of Lake Champlain, when there was danger that his well-equipped 
army might sweep through the whole valley of the Connecticut, the States of 
Massachusetts and Connecticut ordered out every boy who was above the age 
of fifteen to meet the invading force. If he could carry a musket, the boy was 
old enough and big enough. Conditions like those lead to the rapid advance 
of young men. And even when the circumstances have all changed, the 
power of such conditions, through generations before, shows itself all through 
the social order. 

The division into different books, which we have adopted, brings 
together those great characters who illustrate the service which has been 
rendered to our country in different fields of activity. The reader will readily 
note for himself the points at which the lives of these great men touch 
each other. He ought also to see how largely each life is affected by the influ- 
ences of republican government, and those conditions which belong to States 
in their youth or in their infancy. Fulton in his earlier life painted a portrait of 
Dr. Franklin, which is one of the curious memorials of that time. John Quincy 
Adams is now most often remembered for the marvelous activity and spirit which 
he showed in his old age ; but, as the reader will see, his personal memories ran 
back to the days when he copied documents for his father in the time of the 
Revolution. Young men should remember, indeed, that all through his 
early diary we find his expressions of regret that he had not the skill of an 
orator, and it should encourage them to recollect that when he died he was most 
often called the "old man eloquent." 

But, without attempting in detail to show how closely the work of one of 
these heroes depends upon that of another, we ought to call the reader's atten- 
tion to that many-sidedness of American life which, in each case, compels strong 



INTRODUCTION. ^^^ 

people to occupy themselves in public affairs. To a true American, there must 
be no jealous seclusion of himself from his fellow-men. It is not simply that at 
each election he has his part to bear ; in every civil contest he must define his 
position. 

The literature of the country is therefore very closely connected with its 
politics, with its invention, with its discovery. Although at certain times we call 
very naturally upon the strongest men to go into the administration of the gov- 
ernment, on the whole we are well pleased if such a man as Beecher keeps his 
position in the pulpit of Plymouth Church, and does not seek an appointment 
as a diplomatist or a member of the House of Representatives. If Mrs. Stowe 
gives her prayer and thought and time and genius to writing " Uncle Tom's 
Cabin," we are as well pleased at the result as if she had been canvassing for 
votes in the choice of a supervisor for the schools. George Peabody spent 
most of his life in London ; the habits of his life were those of a banker and a 
financier. But, all his life through, he loved his country, and he believed in the 
principles on which the constitution of the country was founded. When the 
time came for the disposition of his great fortune, he was in touch with men of 
intelligence who knew the country better than he did, and he was able, therefore, 
to make the magnificent gifts which he made for education, for hospitals, and 
for the right study of history. He is to be remembered, therefore, as one of 
the real benefactors of America, with just as much gratitude as if he had 
served her in diplomacy, in Congress, or on the bench. And that man is a very 
careless reader who does not see that William Lloyd Garrison, quite outside of 
the administration of government, became a more important factor in the con- 
trol of the history of this country, than many of those persons who occupied 
high official positions. Indeed, the young reader should observe that many of 
those persons are now entirely forgotten, and would have no place in any col- 
lection of the real leaders of America. 

We shall, therefore, be very much disappointed if those who study this book 
do not learn the great lesson that he who does the duty next his hand, serves, 
in the providence of God, in the great purpose for which this nation exists, if 
only he loyally remember that he is a citizen of the nation and that the nation 
relies upon him. Alexander Hamilton may have thought, when he was a young 
man, that his genius was thwarted and humbled by the mercantile training to 
which he was bound. But it proved that Alexander Hamilton, precisely because 
he had a knowledge of financial and mercantile affairs, was the person on whose 
life the credit of the nation depended, in the great adjustment of its finances in 
the administration of Washington. George Washington himself may well have 
thought that in the monotonous services which he rendered, as one of the House 
of Burgesses in Virginia, he was throwing away abilities which deserved a nobler 
field. But in time the nobler field was opened, and it proved that George 



534 



INTRODUCTION. 



Washington had been gaining that knowledge of men, and of the way to handle 
men, which was all-important for his country when he entered upon his great 
career. Of every person whose life is described here, the same could be said. 
Ihey were "faithful in a few things," and because they were faithful there was 
given them the rule of great things. Henry Clay, with a marvelous gift of 
eloquence and with a careful preparation for the bar, had at the same time made 
the larger study of the American people. He knew what it was and what it 
was not. He knew what it needed, and he forecast its destiny. Precisely 
because he understood this people better than did most of the older men who 
were around him, he became, one, may say, their idol, and he was able to render 
service to his country which no closet-student, trained simply in the methods of 
older dynasties, could ever have done. In an entirely different line of life, the 
same is true of Andrew Jackson. Precisely because he did not trammel him- 
self with precedent or conditions, which even to a well-trained lawyer may have 
seemed important, — because, on the other hand, in the difficulties of frontier 
warfare he had accustomed himself to look at the national life, from a broad 
and at the same time practical point of view, — he saved the constitution when 
the constitution was really endangered. 



This book will fall into the hands of clubs and schools, for study more 
careful than is involved in one superficial reading. In introducing it to readers 
who study it, I make one suggestion, of which I hope they will try the value ; 
they will find similar suggestions made, with some detail of illustration, more 
than once in Miss Edgeworth's admirable suggestions for education. Let any 
group of readers cultivate the habit of impersonating, if they please, the char 
acters whose lives interest them in American history, and bringing these people 
together for imaginary conversations, for common action, in such scenes and at 
such times as history will justify. Imaginary conversations, such as Madame 
de Genlis suggests ; imaginary correspondence, such as even classical writers 
were amused with, will prove not only amusing but of permanent value in giving 
a vivid sense of the life of older times. Better yet, perhaps, for the purpose 
of maintaining the life and interest of a club or society of readers, would be 
the dramatic representation, in a parlor or a school-room, of scenes such as 
bright pupils would imagine, which shall introduce several of the great men of 
women of whom they read. 

Thus, there is a curious home letter from a private soldier in Braddock's 
army, which makes it well-nigh certain that Franklin, at the age of forty-nine, 
met Washington when he was but twenty-three, as Braddock's army advanced 
toward its ruin. It would be easy, in some parlor theatricals, to represent the 
scene, to bring in these two men who were unconscious of their future greatness, 



INTRODUCTION. 535 

to surround them with such figures as those of Braddock and Gage and Morris, 
and in dialogue or in pantomime to interest the whole company. A date thus 
fixed, a transaction thus made real, take their places in memory, and, as an old 
friend says, "give something to knit upon " as one works out his own fabric of 
history. 

When the Revolutionary War began, every rencontre between the soldiers 
of England and those of America brought people together in such dramatic 
fashion. When Gage addressed Washington and Washington replied to him, 
parted only by the Charles River, it was with recollections of the time when they 
sat at the same mess-table, when they copied the same despatch, as they both 
served on the staff of Braddock. When Franklin met Lord Howe, in 1776, it 
was to recall the memory of how they had played chess together in London. 
When Clinton sailed into New York, after his repulse at Charleston, it was to 
show to the younger officers the streets and homes of the town where he had 
spent his boyhood, in which, probably, he was more at home than he was in 
London. Perhaps, indeed, when he passed the burial-ground by King's Chapel 
in Boston some one took pains to point out to him the grave of his relative, 
Isaac Johnson, Arbella Johnson's husband, who had come from the family home 
in England, which Clinton must have remembered well. Indeed, an accurate 
reader could bring together Jefferson, Jay, and Adams, in more than one imagin- 
ary colloquy, which would fix in the memory of all who saw those characters 
well presented the various contributions which such men made, for weal or for 
woe, to the progress of the nation. The contrast of the fanfaronade and love 
of glory of Paul Jones, against the drollery and simplicity of Franklin, and the 
half-concealed annoyance of John Adams, might m.ake a very amusing scene in 
such a performance as I have suggested. It is not so easy to imagine Henry 
Clay in London, arranging with George Peabody how he may draw for money. 
But such men never met but that each of them affected the life of the other. 

I venture to recommend to all clubs or societies of young people who read 
this book together, that they try some such impersonations, which will bring 
history in visible form before them. The preparations will be in some regards 
more difficult, in some more easy, than they think at first. But it may well be 
that they shall find, in many instances, that they are working up some detail of 
the local history of the place in which they live, which would otherwise have 
been neglected and eventually forgotten. And such students should remember 
that there is many an attic which is yet to give up its store of old papers of 
great value in the working out of our history. 

It is generally said, and it is true, that thus far America has not developed, 
or at least has not shown, much power in the writing of entertaining memoirs. 
For the history' of the Revolution the most vivid local color is supplied by those 
bright, accomplished young Frenchmen, to whom everything was a surprise, and 



536 



INTRO D UCTION. 



who, therefore, wrote down what our own fathers thought a matter of course 
and left for fcrgetfulness. The gaps in our history, which are left by the inabil- 
ity of the fathers to write entertaining memoirs, must be supplied now from 
their ledgers and day-books and from the old correspondence, when by good 
fortune it has been preserved. What the artists call "local color," and the vivid- 
ness which is given by what they call "broken lights," may often improve our 
historical picture, if contributed by some antiquarian student who works with 
imagination. I cannot but hope that, by the wide circulation of this very book, 
there may be roused up some young Parkman or Prescott or Bancroft, who shall 
be tempted to make the researches which will bring to light memoranda of use, 
because of interest, in the construction of the history of the republic. 

Edward Everett Hale. 



\ 




^'fift 




mil 



TOMB OF GENERA!, 0. S. GRANT, NEW YORK. 



DISTINGUISHED AMERICANS 

AND THEIR ILLUSTRIOUS CAREERS 



INTRODUCTION 529 

BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE, D.D., LL.D. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON 539 

The Father and Foundek of the Republic 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 558 

The Inventor, Philosopher and Statesman 

THOMAS JEFFERSON 57i 

The Pioneer of Democracy in America 

ANDREW JACKSON 584 

The Hero of the War of 181 2 

HENRY CLAY 597 

The Popular Hero, Patriot and Statesman 

DANIEL WEBSTER 611 

The Founder of National Union 

JOHN C. CALHOUN 622 

The Great Advocate of States' Rights 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN : 630 

The Preserver of the Union 

ULYSSES S. GRANT 651 

The Hero of the Civil War 

ROBERT E. LEE 667 

The Great Commander of the Confederate Forces 

537 



538 DISTINGUISHED AMERICANS 

JAMES ABRAM GARFIELD 678 

The Citizen, Statesman and President 

SAMUEL F. B. MORSE 690 

The Inventor of the Telegraph 

ROBERT FULTON 694 

The Pioneer of Steam Navigation 

.THOMAS A. EDISON 698 

The Wizard of Menlo Park 

ELI WHITNEY 703 

The Inventor of the Cotton Gin 

CYRUS A. McCORMICK 704 

The Inventor of the Reaping Machine 

OLIVER EVANS 704 

The Inventor of the Steam Engine 

JACOB PERKINS 705 

The Inventor of the Nail Machine 

ELIAS HOWE 707 

The Inventor of the Sewing Machine 

CHAUNCEY JEROME 707 

The Inventor of American Clocks 

CYRUS W. FIELD 708 

The Successful Projector of the American Cable 

WILLIAM McKINLEY 7^4 

The Distinguished Tariff Reform Leader and War President 

THEODORE ROOSEVELT 719 

The Twentieth Century President 

MARSHALL FIELD 724 

The Modern Business Man 

JOHN WANAMAKER 730 

The Great Business Organizer 



GEORGE WASHINGTON, 

FATHER AND FOUNDER OE THE REPUBLIC. 



AMONG the multitude who in different 
lands and times have won fame in vary- 
ing degrees, a few stand out so distinct, 
so far above the rest, that they mark the 
eras of the world's progress. By them 
we measure our growth ; by them we 
test our advance or decline. We no 
longer judge them, but rather judge 
ourselves by them, by the extent to 
which we can appreciate and under- 
stand them. An age in which they are 
honored is glorious ; a generation by 
which they are not esteemed is con- 
temptible. Among the few thus truly 
great is Washington. A thousand times 
has the story of his noble life been told ; 
yet never were men so eager to hear it 
as now. His character has endured 
every test; his fame is secure. "It will 
be the duty of the historian in all ages," 
says Lord Brougham, "to omit no occa- 
sion of commemorating this illustrious 
man ; . . . and until time shall be no 
more will a test of the progress which 
our race has made in wisdom and virtue 
be derived from the veneration paid to the immortal name of Washington." 

Two centuries ago Virginia was almost an unexplored wilderness ; but the 
climate, the soil, the rivers, bays, mountains, valleys, all combined to render it 
one of the most attractive spots upon our globe. Two young brothers, Law- 
rence and John Washington, were lured by these attractions to abandon their 
home in England, and seek their fortunes in this new world. They were both 

539 




A VIRGINIA PLANTATION GATEWAY. 



540 



lEORGE WASHINGTON. 



g-entlemen. Lawrence was a fine scholar, a graduate of Oxford ; John was an 
accomplished man of business. 

The two brothers had purchased a large tract of land about fifty miles 
above the mouth of the Potomac, and on its western banks. John built him a 
house, and married Anne Pope. Augustine, his second son, inherited the 
paternal homestead. Augustine's first wife, Jane Butler, as lovely in character 
as she was beautiful in person, died, leaving three little motherless children 
The disconsolate father, in the course of years, found another mother for his 
bereaved household. 

He was singularly fortunate in his choice. Mary Ball was everything that 
husband or child could desire. She was beautiful in person, intelligent, accom- 
plished, energetic and prudent, and a warm hearted Christian. Augustine and 
Mary were married on the 6th of March, 1730. On the 22d of February, 1732, 
they received into their arms their first-born child. Little did they dream, as 
they bore their babe to the baptismal font and called him George Washington, 
that that name was to become one of the most memorable in the annals of 
time. 

BOYHOOD DAYS. 

From earliest childhood George developed a very noble character. He had 
a vigorous constitution, a fine form, and great bodily strength. In childhood he 
was noted for frankness, fearlessness, and moral courage ; and yet far removed 
from manifesting a quarrelsome spirit. He never tyrannized over others ; and 
none were found to attempt to tyrannize over him. 

After twelve happy years of union with Mary Ball, when George was but 
ten years of age, Augustine Washington died, leaving George and five other 
children fatherless. The mother was equal to the task thus imposed upon her. 
The confidence of her husband in her judgment and maternal love is indicated 
by the fact that he left the income of the entire property to her until her children 
should respectively come of age. Nobly she discharged the task. A nation's 
homage gathers around the memory of the mother of Washington. Life's 
severe discipline developed a character simple, sincere, grave, cheered with 
earnest and unostentatious piety. Her well-balanced mind gave her great influ- 
ence over her son, which she retained until the hour of her death. 

Mrs. Alexander Hamilton tells the story that, when George Washington 
was in the meridian of his fame, a brilliant party was given in his honor at 
Fredericksburg, Va. When the church-bell rang the hour of nine, his mother 
rose and said, " Come, George, it is nine o'clock : it is time for us to go home." 
George, like a dutiful son, offered her his arm, and they retired. Mrs. Hamil- 
ton admits, however, that after Washington had seen his mother safely home 
he returned to the part)'. 

At sixteen years of age George, then a man in character, and almost a man 



LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. 541 

in stature, left school. He excelled in mathematical studies, and had become 
familiar with the principles of geometry and trigonometry and of practical sur- 
veying. In was then his intention to become a civil engineer. At that time, in 
this new and rapidly-growing country, there was great demand for such services, 
and the employment was very lucrative. He had formed his character upon the 
right model. Everything he did he did well. If he wrote a letter, every word 
was as plain as print, with spelling, capitals, punctuation, all correct. His dia 
grams and tables were never scribbled off, but all executed with great beauty. 
These excellent habits, thus early formed, were retained through life. 

Upon leaving school George went to spend a little time with his elder 
brother, Lawrence, at Mount Vernon. Then, as now, that was an enchanting 
spot. The house, situated upon a swell of land, commanded an extensive view 
of the Potomac and of the surrounding country. It was nearly one hundred 
miles above the home of Georsfe. Lord Fairfax, a man of laro^e fortune and 
romantic tastes, had been lured by the charms of this delightful region to pur- 
chase a vast territory, which extended far away, over the Blue Mountains. It 
was a property embracing rivers and mountains, forests and prairies, and wealth 
unexplored. Lord Fairfax was charmed with young Washington, his frankness, 
his intelligence, his manliness, his gentlemanly bearing, — a boy in years, a man 
in maturity of wisdom and character ; and he engaged this lad, then but one 
month over sixteen years of age, to explore and survey these pathless wilds, a 
large portion of which was then ranged only by wild beasts and savage men. It 
may be doubted whether a lad of his age ever before undertook a task so ardu- 
ous. • With a few attendants, the boy entered the wilderness. We have some 
extracts from the journal which he kept, which give us a vivid idea of the life he 
then led. Under date of March 15, 1748, he writes: — 

" Worked hard till night, and then returned. After supper, we were lighted 
into a room ; and I, not being so good a woodman as the rest, stripped myself 
very orderly, and went into the bed, as they call it, when, to my surprise, I found 
it to be nothing but a little straw matted together, without sheet or anything else, 
but only one threadbare blanket, with double Its weight of vermin. I was glad 
to get up and put on my clothes, and lie as my companions did. Had we not 
been very tired, I am sure we should not have slept much that night. I made a 
promise to sleep so no more in a bed, choosing rather to sleep in the open air 
before a fire." 

On the 2d of April he writes, "A blowing, rainy night. Our straw, upon 
which we were lying, took fire ; but I was luckily preserved by one of our men 
awaking when it was in a flame. We have run off four lots this day." 

George returned from this tramp with all his energies consolidated by toil, 
peril, and hardship. Though but seventeen years of age, he was a responsible, 
self-reliant man. The State of Virginia now employed him as public surveyor. 



542 A PERILOUS JOURNEY. 

For three years he was engaged in these laborious duties, which introduced him 
to scenes of romance and adventure. Though he often, during these three years, 
visited his mother, his headquarters were with his brother at Mount Vernon, as 
this was much nearer. Lord Fairfax, who, it is said, was the victim of a love 
disappointment, had built him a substantial stone mansion in the valley beyond 
the Blue Ridge, where he was living in a sort of baronial splendor, and where 
George was an ever welcome guest. 

MISSION TO THE FRENCH COMMANDER. 

Having performed his duty as surveyor so well, he was chosen adjutant- 
general, with the rank of major, over a portion of the militia whose duty it was 
to repel the encroachments of the French and Indians. In the meantime, how- 
ever, he was absent four months in Barbadoes with a sick brother. The next 
year, being then twenty-one years of age, he was sent as commissioner by 
Governor Dinwiddle to demand of the French commander why he had invaded 
the king's colonies. For seven hundred and fifty miles, more than half of the 
distance through an unbroken wilderness, he made his way, accompanied by 
only seven persons ; and after forty-one days of toil, in the middle of Decem- 
ber he reached his destination. Having concluded his mission, he set out in the 
dead of winter to retrace his dreary route. The horses after a while gave out, 
and the drivers were left to take care of them, while he and one companion 
pushed on alone, on foot, through the wilderness. Traveling in this manner, 
they came upon an Indian, who, under the pretence of acting as guide, led them 
off their route, and then shot at them. Sparing his life, contrary to the wishes 
of his friend, Washington soon got rid of him, and walked all night to escape 
pursuit. Coming to the Alleghany river, they found it only partly frozen over, 
and here the two friends lay down upon the bank in the cold snow, with 
nothing but their blankets over them, and thus, weary and hungry, passed the 
dreary night. The next morning they set to work with a single hatchet to build 
a raft. They worked all day long on the frail thing, and just after sunset suc- 
ceeded in launching it on the turbulent stream. When nearly half across, huge 
fragments of floating ice came driving down the current, and, jamming against 
the crazy fabric, jerked them overboard, into ten feet of water. The two 
adventurers swam and waded to an island, where, amid frost and snow, wet to 
the skin, without a blanket to cover them or a spark of fire, with their clothes 
frozen stiff upon their backs, they passed the long, wintry night. They were 
now without the means of reaching either shore ; but the biting cold that be- 
numbed their limbs froze also the river, so that when morning dawned it was 
bridged over with ice between them and the shore. Escaping the shot of the 
Indian, the dangers of the forest, and death by cold, they at length, after an 
absence of eleven weeks, arrived safely at home. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 543 

Washington's journal of this tour was published in London, and attracted 
much attention, as it contained conclusive proof that the French would resist 
any attempts of the English to establish their settlements upon the Ohio. The 
Legislature of Virginia was in session at Williamsburg when Washington 
returned. Modestly, and unconscious that he would attract any attention, he 
went into the gallery to observe the proceedings. The Speaker chanced to see 
him, and, rising, proposed that 

" The thanks of this house be given to Major Washington, who now sits in 
the gallery, for the gallant manner in which he has executed the important trust 
lately reposed in him by his excellency the governor." 

Every member of the house rose to his feet ; and Washington was greeted 
with a simultaneous and enthusiastic burst of applause. Embarrassed by the 
unexpected honor, and unaccustomed to public speaking, the young hero en- 
deavored in vain to give utterance to his thanks. Out of this painful dilemma 
the eloquent Speaker helped him as generously as he had helped him into it. " Sit 
down, Mr. Washington," said he, in his most courteous manner, "your modesty 
equals your valor, and that surpasses the power of any language that I possess." 
Nothing could be more elegant or skilful than this double stroke, which not only 
relieved Washington, but paid him at the same time the highest compliment that 
could be bestowed. 

braddock's expedition. 

Early in the spring of 1755 General Braddock, a self-conceited, stubborn 
man, landed in Virginia with two regiments of regular troops from Great 
Britain. Arrogant in the pride of his technical military education, he despised 
alike Frenchmen, Indians, and colonists. With his force, Braddock started on 
a march through the wilderness for the reduction of Fort Duquesne. Washing- 
ton accompanied him as volunteer aid. In a straggling line four miles in length, 
this army of two thousand men, totally unacquainted with Indian warfare, and 
thoroughly despising such barbaric foes, commenced its march, with ponderous 
artillery and a cumbrous baggage-train, through the forest, for the distant junc- 
tion of the Alleghany and the Monongahela. Washington, who well knew the 
foe they were to encounter, was alarmed at this recklessness, and urged greater 
caution. The regular British general was not to be taught the art of war by a 
provincial colonel, who had never even seen the inside of a military school. Suc- 
cessfully they had threaded the wilderness, and on a beautiful summer's day they 
were exultingly marching along the banks of the Monongahela, when they 
entered a defile of picturesque beauty. 

Suddenly, like the burst of thunder from the cloudless heavens, came the 
crash of musketry, and a tempest of lead swept through their ranks. Crash 
followed crash in quick succession, before, behind, on the right, on the left. No 
foe was to be seen ; yet every bullet accomplished its mission. The ground was 



544 BRADDOCK'S DEFEAT. 

soon covered with the dead and wounded. Amazement and consternation ran 
through the ranks. An unseen foe was assailing them. Braddock stood his 
ground with bull-dog courage, until he fell, pierced by a bullet. When nearly 
half of the army were slain, the remnant broke in wild disorder and fled. The 
ambush was entirely successful. Six hundred of these unseen assailants were 
Indians. They made the forest ring with their derision in scorn of the folly of 
Braddock. 

Washington, through this awful scene, which he had been constantly antici- 
pating, was perfectly collected, and, with the coolest courage, did everything 
which human sagacity could do to retrieve the disaster. Two horses were shot 
beneath him, and four bullets passed through his coat. Eight hundred of Brad- 
dock's army, including most of the officers, were either dead or wounded. 
Washington rallied around him the few provincials, upon whom Braddock had 
looked with contempt. Each man instantly placed himself behind a tree, 
according to the necessities of forest warfare. As the Indians burst from their 
ambush, the unerring fire of the provincials checked them and drove them back. 
But for this the army would have been utterly destroyed. All Washington's 
endeavors to rally the British regulars were unavailing. Indignantly he writes, 
"They ran like sheep before the hounds." Panic-stricken, abandoning artillery 
and baggage, they continued their tumultuous retreat to the Atlantic coast. The 
provincials, in orderly march, protected them from pursuit. Braddock's defeat 
rang through the land as Washington's victory. The provincials, who, submit- 
ting to military authority, had allowed themselves to be led into this valley of 
death, proclaimed far and wide the precautions which Washington had urged, 
and the heroism with which he had rescued the remnant of the army. 

The French made no attempt to pursue their advantage, but quietly retired 
to Fort Duquesne, there to await another assault, should the English decide to 
make one. A force of about seven hundred men was raised, and placed under 
the command of Washington, to protect the scattered villages and dwellings of 
this vast frontier. For three years Washington gave all his energies to this 
arduous enterprise. It would require a volume to record the awful scenes 
through which he passed during these three years. 

In November, 1758, Fort Duquesne was wrested from the French, and the 
valley of the Ohio passed from their control forever. The Canadas soon after 
surrendered to Wolfe, and English supremacy was established upon this conti- 
nent without a rival. 

Washington was now twenty-six years of age. The beautiful estate of 
Mount Vernon had descended to him by inheritance. On the 6th of January. 
1759, he married Mrs. Martha Custis, a lady of great worth and beauty. Wash- 
ington was already wealthy ; and his wife brought with her, as her dower, a 
fortune of one hundred thousand dollars. After the tumultuous scenes of his 



THE BEGINNING OF WAR. 545 

youth, he retired with his bride and her two children to the lovely retreat of 
Mount Vernon, where he spent fifteen years of almost unalloyed happiness. 
He enlarged the mansion, embellished the grounds, and by purchase made very 
considerable additions to his large estate. 

OUTBREAK OF THE REVOLUTION. 

During these serene years of peace and prosperity an appalling storm was 
gathering, which soon burst with fearful desolation over all the colonies. The 
British ministry, denying the colonists the rights of British subjects, insisted 
upon exercising the despotic power of imposing taxes upon the colonists, while 
withholding the right of representation. All American remonstrances were 
thrown back with scorn. Troops were sent to enforce obedience to the man- 
dates of the British Crown. The Americans sprang to arms, called a Congress, 
and chose George Washington commander-in-Ciiief. 

To the Congress which elected him he replied : "I beg leave to assure the 
Consfress that, as no pecuniary consideration could have tempted me to accept 
this arduous employment at the expense of my domestic ease and happiness, 
I do not wish to make any profit from it. I will keep an exact account of my 
expenses. Those, I doubt not, they will discharge. That is all I desire." 

To his wife, the object of his most tender affection, he wrote that it was his 
greatest affliction to be separated from her, but that duty called, and he must 
obey. He said that he could not decline the appointment without dishonoring 
his name, and sinking himself even in her esteem. 

On the 2d of July Washington arrived in Cambridge and took command 
of the army. The ceremony took place under the elm-tree which still stands 
immortalized by the event. General Gage was commander of the British forces. 
Twelve thousand British regulars were intrenched on Bunker's Hill and in the 
streets of Boston. About fifteen thousand provincial militia, wretchedly armed 
and without any discipline, occupied a line nearly twelve miles in extent, en- 
circling, on the land side, Charlestown and Boston. The British war-ships held 
undisputed possession of the harbor. 

At length, in March, 1776, after months of toil and surmounting difficulties 
more than can be enumerated, Washington was prepared for decisive action. 
In a dark and stormy night he opened upon the foe in the city, from his encir- 
cling lines, as fierce a bombardment as his means would allow. Under cover of 
this roar of the batteries and the midnight storm, he dispatched a large force of 
picked troops, with the utmost secrecy, to take possession of the Heights of 
Dorchester. There, during the hours of the night, the soldiers worked with the 
utmost diligence in throwing up breastworks which would protect them from the 
broadsides of the English fleet. Having established his batteries upon those 
heights, he commanded the harbor. 
35 



546 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

In the early dawn of the morning, the British Admiral saw, to his con 
sternation, that a fort bristling with cannon had sprung up during the night 
almost over his head. He immediately opened upon the works the broadsides 
of all his ships ; but the Americans, defiant of the storm of iron which fell 
around them, continued to pile their sand-bags and to ply their shovels, until 
they had thrown up ramparts so strong that no cannonade could injure them. 
The British fleet was now at the mercy of Washington's batteries. In a spirit 
almost of desperation, the Admiral ordered three thousand men in boats to land 
and take the heights at every hazard. But a great storm came to the aid of 
the colonists. The gale increased to such fury that not a boat could be launched. 
Before another day and night had passed the redoubt was made so strong that 
it could defy any attack. 

It was the morning of the 17th of March, 1776. The storm had passed 
away. The blue sky overarched the beleaguered city and the encamping armies. 
Washington sat upon his horse, serene and majestic, and contemplated in silent 
triumph, from the Heights of Dorchester, the evacuation of Boston. The 
whole British army was crowded on board the ships. A fresh breeze ffom the 
west filled their sails ; and the hostile armament, before the sun went down, had 
disappeared beyond the distant horizon. It was a glorious victory. Such 
another case, perhaps, history does not record. Washington, zuitlioiit ammuni- 
tion, had maintained his post for six months within musket-shot of a powerful 
British army. During this time he had disbanded the small force of raw militia 
he at first had with him, and had recruited another army ; and had then driven 
the enemy into his ships, and out into the sea. 

The latter part of June, just before the Declaration of Independence, two 
large British fleets, one from Halifax and the other direct from England, met at 
the mouth of the Bay of New York, and, disembarking a powerful army, took 
possession of Staten Island. Washington had assembled all his available mili- 
tary force to resist their advances. The British Government regarded the leaders 
of the armies, and their supporters in Congress, as felons, doomed to the scaffold. 
They refused, consequently, to recognize any titles conferred by Congress. 

By the middle of August the British had assembled, on Staten Island and 
at the mouth of the Hudson River, a force of nearly thirty thousand soldiers, 
with a numerous and well-equipped fleet. To oppose them Washington had 
about twelve thousand men, poorly armed, and quite unaccustomed to military 
discipline and the hardships of the camp. A few regiments of American troops, 
about five thousand in number, were gathered near Brooklyn. A few thousand 
more were stationed at other points on Long Island. The English landed with- 
out opposition, fifteen thousand strong, and made a combined assault upon the 
Americans. The batde was short, but bloody. The Americans, overpowered, 
sullenly retired, leaving fifteen hundred of their number either dead or in the 



A CAMPAIGN OF RETREATS. 547 

hands ot the English. A vastly superior force of well-trained British troops, 
flushed with victory, pressed upon the rear of the dispirited colonists. 'J'heil 
situation seemed desperate. 

Again Providence came to our aid. The wind died away to a perfect calm, 
so that the British fleet could not move. A dense fog was rolled in from the 
ocean. The Americans, familiar with every foot of the ground, improved the 
propitious moments. Boats were rapidly collected ; and, in the few hours of 
that black night, nine thousand men, with nearly all their artillery and military 
stores, were safely landed in New York. The transportation was conducted so 
secretly that, though the Americans could hear the English at work with their 
pickaxes, the last boat had left the Long Island shore ere the retreat was sus- 
pected. 

The American army was now in a deplorable condition. It had neither arms, 
ammunition, nor food. The soldiers were unpaid, almost mutinous, and in rags. 
There were thousands in the vicinity of New York who were in sympathy with 
the British. Nearly all the Government officials and their friends were on that 
side. A conspiracy was formed, in which a part of Washington's own guard 
was implicated, to seize him, and deliver him to that ignominious death to which 
the British Crown had doomed him. 

Washington was equal to the crisis. He saw that the only hope was to be 
found in avoiding an engagement, and in wearing out the resources of the enemy 
in protracted campaigns. He slowly retired from New York to the Heights of 
Harlem, with sleepless vigilance watching every movement of the foe, that he 
might take advantage of the slightest indiscretion. Here he threw up breast- 
works, which the enemy did not venture to attack. The British troops ascended 
the Hudson and East River to assail Washington in his rear. A weary cam- 
paign of marches and counter-marches ensued, in which W^ashington, with 
scarcely a shadow of an army, sustained, in the midst of a constant succession 
of disasters, the apparently hopeless fortunes of his country. At one time 
General Reed in anguish exclaimed, — 

" My God ! General Washington, how long shall we fly ?" 

Serenely W^ashington replied, " We shall retreat, if necessary, over every 
river of our country, and then over the mountains, where I will make a last stand 
against our enemies." 

THE NEW JERSEY CAMPAIGN. 

Washington crossed the Hudson into the Jerseys. The British pursued 
him. W^ith consummate skill, he baffled all the efforts of the foe. With an army 
reduced to a freezing, starving band of but three thousand men, he retreated to 
Trenton. The British pressed exultantly on, deeming the conflict ended and the 
Revolution crushed. It was December. The foe tracked the patriots by the 
blood of their lacerated feet on the frozen ground. With great difficulty Wash- 



54S THE SURPRISE AT TRENTON. 

ing^on succeeded in crossing the Delaware in boats, just as the British army | 
arrived upon the banks of the stream. They needed but to cross the river to 
take possession of Philadelphia. The ice was so rapidly forming that they 
would soon be able to pass at any point without obstruction. The enemy, with 
apparently nothing to fear, relaxed his vigilance. 

The night of December 25, 1776, was very dark and intensely cold. A 
storm of wind and snow raged violently. The British, considering the patriots 
utterly dispersed, and that a broad, icy river flowed between them and the 
retreating American bands, gathered around the firesides. In the darkness of 
that wintry night, and amidst the conflict of its elements, Washington re- 
embarked his troops to recross the Delaware. Forcing his boats through the 
floating blocks of ice, he succeeded, before daylight the next morning, in land- 
ing upon the opposite shore twenty-four hundred men and twenty pieces of 
cannon. The British were carelessly dispersed, not dreaming of danger. The 
Americans sprang upon the first body of the foe they met, and, after a short 
but bloody strife, scattered them, capturing a thousand prisoners and six cannon. 
The British retreated to Princeton, and Washington took possession of Trenton. 
Soon Lord Cornwallis, having received large reinforcements, marched upon 
Trenton, confident that General Washington could no longer escape them. At 
the close of a bleak winter day his army appeared before the lines which 
Washington had thrown up around Trenton. "To-morrow," he said, "at the 
break of day, I will attack them. The rising sun shall see the end of the 
rebellion." 

The sun rose the next morningf, cold but cloudless. In the night the 
American army had vanished. Replenishing his camp-fires to deceive the 
enemy, at midnight, with the utmost precaution and precipitation, he evacuated 
his camp, and, by a circuitous route, fell upon the rear of the English at Prince- 
ton. A hundred and sixty of the British were shot down, and three hundred 
were taken prisoners. 

Cheered by this success, Washington led his handful of troops to the 
Heights of Morristown. There he intrenched them for winter-quarters. He, 
however, sent out frequent detachments, which so harassed the enemy that, in a 
short time. New Jersey was delivered from their presence. The country was 
animated by these achievements, and Congress roused itself to new energies. 

During the remainder of the winter vigorous efforts were made in prepara- 
tion for the opening of the spring campaign. The different States sent troops 
to join the army at Morristown. The people of France, in sympathy with our 
cause, sent two vessels. The Marquis de Lafayette left his mansion of opulence, 
and his youthful bride, to peril his life in the cause of American independence. 
The British, harassed by Washington's sleepless vigilance, yet unable to compeJ 
him or to lure him into a general engagement, left New Vork in a fleet, with 



M 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 



549 



eighteen thousand soldiers, to capture Philadelphia. They landed near Elkton 
at the head of Chesapeake Bay. Washington, with but eleven thousand men, 
marched to encounter them. The two armies met on the banks of the Brandy- 
wine. A bloody battle ensued. Lafayette was wounded. The Americans, 
overpowered, were compelled to retreat. Washington, after a short but severe 
engagement at Germantown, retired, and the British took possession of Phila- 
delphia. 

Congress precipitately adjourned to Lancaster, and thence to York. 
Winter again came. The British were comfortably housed in Philadelphia. 
Washington selected Valley Forge, about twenty miles from Philadelphia, as his 
winter-quarters. Eleven thousand men here passed the winter of 1777 and 




OLCKBIRMI^CH^M MEETirMt HOuJE 



■"" BATTLE •{BRANDYWINE 



l^ iriJ 



1778. It was a period of great discouragement and suffering. The army was 
in a state of destitution, which Washington did not dare to proclaim abroad, lest 
the foe should rush upon him in his helplessness. 

In this dark hour France came forward to our aid ; recognizing our inde- 
pendence, entering into a friendly alliance with us, and sending both a fleet and 
an army to our support. The British army in New York and Philadelphia 
amounted to thirty thousand men. The whole American army did not exceed 
fifteen thousand. But the British, apprehensive that a French fleet might' soon 
appear, and thus endanger the troops in Philadelphia, evacuated the city, and 
the troops commenced their march through New Jersey. The cold of winter 
had given place to the heat of summer. 



550 



LEE'S TREACHERY. 



Washington followed close in the rear of the foe, watching for a chance to ; 
strike. The 28th of June, 1778, was a day of intense heat. Not a breath of 
air was stirring, while an unclouded sun poured down its blistering rays upon I 
pursuers and pursued. The British troops were at Monmouth. The march 
of one more day would so unite them with the army in New York that 




WASHI.X'^IUN TAKING THE OATH OP OFFICB AS PRESIDENT, 
April 30, 1-S9, on the site of the present Treasury Building, Wall Street, New York City. 

they would be safe from attack. General Lee, with five thousand men, 
was in the advance. Washington sent orders to him immediately to 
commence the onset, with the assurance that he would hasten to his 
support. As Washington was pressing eagerly forward, to his inexpressible 
chagrin he met General Lee at the head of his troops, in full retreat. It 



i 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 55i 

is said that Washington, with great vehemence of manner and utterance, cried 
out, "General Lee, what means this ill-timed prudence?" The retreating 
General threw back an angry retort. But it was no time for altercation. 
Washington turned to the men. They greeted him with cheers. At his com- 
mand they wheeled about and charged the enemy. A sanguinary battle 
ensued, and the English were driven from the field. The colonists slept upon 
their arms, prepared to renew the battle in the morning. When the morning 
dawned, no foe was to be seen. The British had retreated in the night, leaving 
three hundred of their dead behind them. The Americans lost but sixty-nine. 

DARK DAYS OF THE WAR. 

Another cold and cheerless winter came. The British remained within 
their lines at New York. They sent agents, however, to the Six Nations of 
Indians, to arm them against our defenseless frontier. These fierce savages, 
accompanied by Tory bands, perpetrated horrors too dreadful for recital. The 
massacres of Cherry Valley and of Wyoming were among the most awful trage- 
dies ever witnessed on this globe. The narrative of these fiendish deeds sent a 
thrill of horror through England as well as America. Four thousand men were 
sent by Washington into the wilderness, to arrest, if possible, these massacres. 
The savages and their allies were driven to Niagara, where they were received 
into an English fortress. General Clinton commenced a vigorous prosecution of 
a system of violence and plunder upon defenseless towns and farm-houses. The 
sky was reddened with wanton conflagration. Women and children were driven 
houseless into the fields. The flourishing towns of Fairfield and Norwalk, in 
Connecticut, were reduced to ashes. 

While the enemy was thus ravaging that defenseless State, Washington 
planned an expedition against Stony Point, on the Hudson, which was held by 
the British. General Wayne conducted the enterprise, on the night of the 15th 
of July, with great gallantry and success. Sixty-three of the British were killed, 
five hundred and forty-three were taken prisoners, and all the military stores of the 
fortress captured. During this summer campaign the American army was never 
sufficiently strong to take the offensive. It was, however, incessantly employed 
striking blows upon the English wherever the eagle eye of Washington could 
discern an exposed spot. 

The winter of 1779 set in early, and with unusual severity. The American 
army was in such a starving condition that Washington was compelled to make 
the utmost exertions to save his wasting band from annihilation. These long 
years of war and woe filled many even of the most sanguine hearts with despair. 
Not a few patriots deemed it madness for the colonies, impoverished as they 
were, 'any longer to contend against the richest and most powerful nation upon 
the globe. General Arnold, who was at this time in command afr West Point, 



552 THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 

saw no hope for his country. Believing the ship to be sinking, he turned traitor, 
and offered to sell his fortress to the English. The treason was detected, but 
the traitor escaped ; and the lamented Andre, who had been lured into the 
position of a spy, became the necessary victim of Arnold's crime. 

Lord Cornwallis was now, with a well-provided army and an assisting navy, 
overrunning the two Carolinas. General Greene was sent, with all the force 
which Washington could spare, to watch and harass the invaders, and to furnish 
the inhabitants with all the protection in his power. Lafayette was in the 
vicinity of New York, with his eagle eye fixed upon the foe, ready to pounce 
upon any detachment which presented the slightest exposure. Washington was 
everywhere, with patriotism which never flagged, with hope which never failed, 
cheering the army, animating the inhabitants, rousing Congress, and guiding 
with his well-balanced mind both military and civil legislation. Thus the dreary 
year of 1780 lingered away. 

As the spring of 1781 opened, the war was renewed. The British directed 
their chief attention to the South, which was far weaker than the North. Rich- 
mond, in Virginia, was laid in ashes ; and a general system of devastation and 
plunder prevailed. The enemy ascended the Chesapeake and the Potomac 
with armed vessels. They landed at Mount Vernon. The manager of the 
estate, to save the mansion from pillage and flames, furnished them with abun- 
dant supplies. Washington was much displeased. He wrote to his agent : — 

" It would have been a less painful circumstance to me to have heard that, 
in consequence of your non-compliance with their request, they had burned my 
house and laid the plantation in ruins. You ought to have considered yourself 
as my representative, and should have reflected on the bad example of commu- 
nicating with the enemy, and making a voluntary offer of refreshments to them, 
with a view to prevent a conflagration." 

Lord Cornwallis was now at Yorktown, in Virginia, but a few miles from 
Chesapeake Bay. There was no force in his vicinity seriously to annoy him. 
Washington resolved, in conjunction with our allies from France, to make a 
bold movement for his capture. An army of six thousand men, under Count 
Rochambeau, had been sent by France to aid the American cause. This army^ 
with the French fleet, were most important aids to Washington. He succeeded 
in deceiving the English into the belief that he was making great preparations 
for the siege of New York. Thus they were prevented from rendering any aid 
to Yorktown. 

By rapid marches from the neighborhood of New V^ork Washington has- 
tened to Virginia. Early in September Lord Cornwallis, as he arose one morn- 
ing, was amazed to find himself surrounded by the bayonets and batteries of the 
Americans. At about the same hour the French fleet appeared, in invincible 
strength, before the harbor. Cornwallis was caught. There was no escape ; 



THE TRIUMPH AT YORKTOWN. 553 

there was no retreat. Neither by land nor by sea could he obtain any supplies. 
Shot and shell soon began to fall thickly into his lines. Famine stared him in 
the face. After a few days of hopeless conflict, on the 19th of October, 1781, 
he was compelled to surrender. Seven thousand British veterans laid down 
their arms. One hundred and sixty pieces of cannon, with corresponding mili- 
tary stores, graced the triumph. 

When the British soldiers were marching from their intrenchments to lay 
down their arms, Washington thus addressed his troops : " My brave fellows, 
let no sensation of satisfaction for the triumphs you have gained induce you to 
insult your fallen enemy. Let no shouting, no clamorous huzzaing, increase 
their mortification. Posterity will huzza for us." 

This glorious capture roused renewed hope and vigor all over the country. 
The joyful tidings reached Philadelphia at midnight. A watchman traversed the 
streets, shouting at intervals, "Past twelve o'clock, and Cornwallis is taken'" 
Candles were lighted ; windows thrown up ; figures in night-robes and night-caps 
bent eagerly out to catch the thrilling sound ; shouts were raised ; citizens rushed 
into the streets, half clad, — they wept; they laughed. The news flew upon the 
wings of the wind, nobody can tell how ; and the shout of an enfranchised people 
rose, like a roar of thunder, from our whole land. With such a victory, repub- 
lican America would never again yield to the aristocratic government of England. 

Early in May, 1782, the British Cabinet opened negotiations for peace. 
Hostilities were, by each party, tacitly laid aside. Negotiations were protracted 
in Paris during the summer and the ensuing winter. Early in the following 
spring the joyful tidings arrived that a treaty of peace had been signed at Paris. 
The intelligence was communicated to the American army on the 19th of April, 
1783, — just eight years from the day when the conflict was commenced on the 
Common at Lexington. 

Late in November the British evacuated New York, entered their ships, 
and sailed for their distant island. Washington, marching from West Point, 
entered the city as our vanquished foes departed. America was free and inde- 
pendent. Washington was the savior of his country. 

After an affecting farewell to the officers of the army, Washington set out 
for his Virginia home. At every town and village he was received with love and 
gratitude. At Annapolis he met the Continental Congress, where he was to 
resign his commission. It was the 23d of December, 1783. All the members 
of Congress, and a large concourse of spectators, were present. His address 
closed with the following words : — 

" Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre 
of action, and bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose 
orders I have so long acted, I here offer my commission, and take my leave of 
all the employments of public life." 



224 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

The next day he returned to Mount Vernon, where he expected to spend 
the remainder of his days as a private citizen. This, however, could not be, 
The wisdom and abihty of which he had given such abundant proof was soon 
required once more in his country's service. 

The great problem which now engrossed all minds was the consolidation of 
the thirteen States into a nation. To this subject Washington, who had suffered 
so intensely from the inefficiency of the Continental Congress, devoted his most 
anxious attention. A convention was called in the year 1787. Washington 
was a delegate from Virginia, and was unanimously chosen to preside over its 
deliberations. The result was the present Constitution of the United States ; 
which created a nation from the people of all the States, with supreme powers 
for all the purposes of a general government, and leaving with the States those 
questions of local law in which the integrity of the nation was not involved. 
The Constitution of the United States is, in the judgment of the millions of the 
American people, the most sagacious document which has ever emanated from 
uninspired minds. It has created the strongest government upon this globe. 
It has made the United States of America what they now are. The world must 
look at the fruit, and wonder and admire. 

FIRST PRESIDENT OF THE NEW NATION. 

Upon the adoption of the Constitution all eyes were turned to Washington 
as chief magistrate. By the unanimous voice of the Electors he was chosen the 
first President of the United States. There was probably scarcely a dissentient 
voice in the nation. New York was then the seat of government. As Wash- 
ington left Mount Vernon for the metropolis to assume these new duties of toil 
and care, we find recorded in his journal : — 

"About ten o'clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life, and to 
domestic felicity ; and, with a mind oppressed with more anxious and painful 
sensations than I have words to express, set out for New York, with the best 
disposition to render service to my country in obedience to its call, but, with less 
hopes of answering its expectations." 

On his journey to New York Washington was met and escorted by crowds 
of people, who made his progress a march of triumph. At Trenton a beautiful 
arch, decorated with flowers, spanned the road, commemorating his victory 
over the Hessians in 1776. His path was strewn with flowers, and troops of 
children sang sonors of welcome. 

Washington was inaugurated President of the United States on the 30th 
of April, 1789. He remained in the presidential chair two terms of four years 
each. At the close of his administration, in the year 1796, he again retired to 
the peaceful shades of Mount Vernon. Soon after his return he wrote a letter 
to a friend, in which he described the mj-.nner in which he passed his time. He 
rose with the sun, and first made preparations for the business of the day. 



PERSONAL CHARACTERISTICS. 555 

" By the time I have accomplished these matters," he adds, "breakfast is 
ready. This being over, I mount my horse, and ride round my farms, which 
employs me until it is time to dress for dinner, at which I rarely miss to see 
strange faces, come, as they say, out of respect to me. And how different is 
this from having a few friends at the social board ! The usual time of sitting at 
table, a walk, and tea, bring me within the dawn of candle-light ; previous to 
which, if not prevented by company, I resolve that, as soon as the glimmering 
taper supplies the place of the great luminary, I will retire to my writing-table, 
and acknowledge the letters I have received. Having given you this history of 
a day, it will serve for a year." 

The following anecdotes have been related, illustrative of President Wash- 
ington's habits of punctuality. Whenever he assigned to meet Congress at 
noon, he seldom failed of passing the door of the hall when the clock struck 
twelve. His dining-hour was at four o'clock, when he always sat down to his 
table, whether his guests were assembled or not, merely allowing five minutes 
for the variation of time-pieces. To those who came late, he remarked, "Gen- 
tlemen, we are punctual here : my cook never asks whether the company has 
arrived, but whether the hour has." 

Captain Pease had a beautiful span of horses, which he wished to sell to the 
President. The President appointed five o'clock in the morning to examine 
them at his stable. The Captain arrived with his span at quarter past five. He 
was told by the groom that the President was there at five o'clock, but was then 
gone to attend to other engagements. The President's time was wholly occu- 
pied for several days, so that Captain Pease had to remain a whole week in 
Philadelphia before he could get another opportunity to exhibit his span. 

Washington, having inherited a large landed estate in Virginia, was, as a 
matter of course, a slaveholder. The whole number which he held at the time 
of his death was one hundred and twenty-four. The system met his strong 
disapproval. In 1 786 he wrote to Robert Morris, saying, " There is no man 
living who wishes more sincerely than I do to see a plan adopted for the aboli- 
tion of slavery." 

Longf before this he had recorded his resolve : "I never mean, unless some 
particular circumstances should compel me to it, to possess another slave by 
purchase ; ic being among my first wishes to see some plan adopted by which 
slavery in this country may be abolished by law." 

Mrs. Washington, immediately after her husband's death, learning from his 
will that the only obstacle to the immediate emancipation of the slaves was her 
right of dower, immediately relinquished that right, and the slaves were at once 
emancipated. 

The 1 2th of December, 1799, was chill and damp. Washington, however, 
took his usual round on horseback to his farms, and returned late in the after- 



556 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 



noon, wet with sleet, and shivering with cold. Though the snow was clinging 
to his hair behind when he came in, he sat down to dinner without changing his 
dress. The next day three inches of snow whitened the ground, and the sky- 
was clouded. Washington, feeling that he had taken cold, remained by the fire- 
side during the morning. As it cleared up in the afternoon, he went out to 




THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON AT MOUNT VERNON. 



superintend some work upon the lawn. He was then hoarse, and the hoarse- 
ness increased as night came on. He, however, took no remedy for it, saymg. 
" I never take anything to carry off a cold. Let it go as it came." 

He passed the evening as usual, reading the papers, answering letters, and 
conversing with his family. About two o'clock the next morning. Saturday, the 



LAST HOURS 557 

I4tb, he awoke in an ague-chill, and was seriously unwell. At sunrise his 
physician, Dr. Craig, who resided at Alexandria, was sent for. In the mean- 
time he was bled by one of his overseers, but with no relief, as he rapidly grew 
worse. Dr. Craig reached Mount Vernon at eleven o'clock, and immediately 
bled his patient again, but without effect. Two consulting physicians arrived 
during the day ; and, as the difficulty in breathing and swallowing rapidly 
increased, venesection was again attempted. It is evident that Washington 
then considered his case doubtful. He examined his will, and destroyed some 
papers which he did not wish to have preserved. 

His sufferings from inflammation of the throat and struggling for breath, as 
the afternoon wore away, became quite severe. Still, he retained his mental 
faculties unimpaired, and spoke briefly of his approaching death and burial. 
About four o'clock in the afternoon he said to Dr. Craig, "I die hard ; but I am 
not afraid to go. I believed, from my first attack, that I should not survive it : 
my breath cannot last long." About six o'clock, his physician asked him if he 
would sit up in his bed. He held out his hands, and was raised up on his pillow, 
when he said, " I feel that I am going. I thank you for your attentions. You 
had better not take any more trouble about me, but let me go off quietly. I 
cannot last long. " 

He then sank back upon his pillow, and made several unavailing attempts 
to speak intelligibly. About ten o'clock he said, "I am just going. Have me 
decently buried, and do not let my body be put into the vault until three days 
after I am dead. Do you understand me ?" To the reply, " Yes, sir," he 
remarked, 'Tt is well." These were the last words he uttered. Soon after this 
he gently expired, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. 

At the moment of his death Mrs. Washington sat in silent grief at the foot 
of his bed. "Is he gone?" she asked, in a firm and collected voice. The 
physician, unable to speak, gave a silent signal of assent. " 'Tis well," she 
added, in the same untremulous utterance. " All is now over. I shall sooii 
follow him. I have no more trials to pass through." 

On the 1 8th his remains were deposited in the tomb at Mount Vernon, 
where they still repose ; and his name and memory live on immortal, forever 
enshrined in the hearts of a grateful people. 

" How sleep the brave who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gr^y, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair 
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there." 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 
THE INVENTOR, PHILOSOPHER, AND STATESIVIAN. 




.^ 



-.-.-if' 



h 



O ONE," says a well-known writer, "ever started from 
a lower point than the poor apprentice of Boston ; 
no one ever raised himself higher by his own un- 
aided forces than the inventor of the lightning-rod. 
Better than the biographies of Plutarch, this life, 
so long and so well filled, is a source of perpetual 
instruction to all men. Every one can there find 
counsel and example." 

Franklin's autobiography is one of the most 

fascinating books in the language. It has the charm of 

style common to all of his writings ; and no one who has 

opportunity should miss reading this unrivaled book. It was 

undertaken at first for the edification of the members of his own family, and 

afterward continued at the pressing request of friends in London and Paris. 

His autobiography, however, covers only the first fifty years of his life. 

For three hundred years at least Franklin's family lived in the village of 
Ecton, in Northamptonshire, England, the eldest son, who inherited the property, 
being always brought up to the trade of a smith. Franklin himself "was the 
youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back." Franklin's 
father, Josiah, took his wife and three children to New England in 1682, where 
he practiced the trade of a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler. Franklin was born 
in 1706, and was the youngest of seventeen children. 

Benjamin being the youngest of ten sons, his fathet intended him for the 
Church, and sent him to school when eight years of age. Although he made 
very rapid progress in the school, his father concluded he could not afford a 
college education. At the age of ten young Benjamin was taken home to assist 
in cutting the wicks of candles, and otherwise to make himself useful. 

Until twelve years of age Benjamin continued in his father's business, but 
as he manifested a great dislike for it, his parents set about finding some trade 
more congenial to his tastes. With this view his father took him to see various 
artificers at their work, that he might observe the tastes of the boy. This 

558 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 559 

experience was very valuable to him, as it taught him to do many little jobs for 
himself. During this time Benjamin spent most of his pocket-money in purchas- 
ing books, some of which he sold when he had read them, in order to buy others. 
He read through most of the books in his father's very limited library. 

At length Franklin's fondness for books caused his father to decide to make 
him a printer. His brother James had already entered that business, and had 
set up in Boston. He signed his indentures when only twelve years old, 
apprenticing himself to his brother until the age of twenty-one. 

Meeting with a book on vegetarianism, Franklin determined to give the 
system a trial. This led to some inconvenience in his brother's housekeeping, 
so Franklin proposed to board hjmself if his brother would give him half the 
sum he paid for his board. Out of this he was able to save a considerable 
amount for the purpose of buying books. Moreover, the time required for his 
meals was now so short that the dinner-hour afforded considerable leisure for 
reading. 

In 1720 or 1 72 1 James Franklin began to print the New England Courant. 
To this paper, which he helped to compose and print, Benjamin becarre an 
anonymous contributor. The members of the staff spoke highly of his contribu- 
tions, but when the authorship became known, James conceived a jealousy of his 
younger brother, which led to their separation. An article in the paper having 
offended the Assembly, James was imprisoned for a month, and forbidden to 
print the paper. He then secredy freed Benjamin from his indentures, in order 
that the paper might be published in his name. At length, a disagreement arising, 
Benjamin took advantage of the canceling of his indentures to quit his brother's 
service. As he could get no employment in Boston, he obtained a passage to 
New York, whence he was recommended to go to Philadelphia, which he reached 
after a very troublesome journey. His whole stock of cash then consisted of a 
Dutch dollar and about a shilling's worth of coppers. His first appearance in 
Philadelphia, about eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, was certainly striking. 
A youth between seventeen and eighteen years of age, dressed in his working 
clothes, which were dirty through his journey, with his pockets stuffed out with 
stockings and shirts, his aspect was not calculated to command respect. 

'"T walked up the street," he writes, "gazing about, till near the market^ 
house I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquir- 
ing where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to, oa 
Second street, and ask'd for bisket, intending such as we had in Boston ; but 
they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny 
. loaf and was told they had none such. So, not considering or knowing the dif- 
ference of money, and the greater cheapness, nor the name of his bread, I bade 
him give me three-penny-worth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three 
great puffy rolls. I was surpriz'd at the quantity, but took it, and having no 



56o FRANKLIN IN PHILADELPHIA. 

room in my pockets, walk'd off with a roll under each arm, and eatmg the 
other. Thus I went up Market street as far as Fourth street, passing by the 
door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father ; when she, standing at the door, saw 
me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appear- 
ance. Then I turned and went down Chestnut street and part of Walnut street, 
eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found myself again at Market 
street wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river 
water ; and^ being filled out with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman 
and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to 
go further." 

FRANKLIN IN PHILADELPHIA. 

In Philadelphia Franklin obtained an introduction to a printer, named Kei- 
mer, who had set up business with an old press which he appeared not to know 
how to use, and one pair of cases of English type. Here Franklin obtained em- 
ployment when the business on hand would permit, and he put the press in order 
and worked it. Keimer obtained lodging for him at the house of Mr. Read, 
and. by industry and economical living, Franklin soon found himself in easy 
circumstances. Sir William Keith, the Governor of Pennsylvania, hearing of 
Franklin, called upon him, and promised to obtain for him the Government print- 
ing if he would set up for himself. Josiah Franklin thought his son too young 
to take the responsibility of a business, whereon the Governor, stating that he 
was determined to have a good printer there, promised to find the means of equip- 
ping the printing-office himself, and suggested Franklin's making a journey to 
England to purchase the plant. He promised letters of introduction to various 
persons in England, as well as a letter of credit. These were to be sent on 
board the ship, and Franklin, having gone on board, awaited the letters. When 
the Governor's despatches came, they were all put into a bag together, and the 
captain promised to let Franklin have his letters before landing. On opening 
the bag off Plymouth, there were no letters of the kind promised, and Franklin 
was left, without introductions and almost without money, to make his own way 
in the world. In London he learned that Governor Keith was well known as a 
man in whom no dependence could be placed, and as to his giving a letter of 
credit, " he had no credit to give." 

A friend of Franklin's, named Ralph, accompanied him from America, and 
the two took lodgings together. Franklin immediately obtained employment at 
a printing-office, but Ralph, who knew no trade but aimed at literature, was unable 
to get any work. He could not obtain employment, even as a copying clerk so 
for some time the wages which Franklin earned had to support the two. 

Among Franklin's fellow-passengers from Philadelphia to England was an 
American merchant, a Mr. Denham. This gentleman always remained a firm 
friend to Franklin, who, during his stay in London, sought his advice when any 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 



561 



important questions arose. When Mr. Denham returned to Philadelphia, he 
offered Franklin an appointment as clerk, which was afterward to develop into 
a commission agency. The offer was accepted, and the two returned to Phila- 
delphia in October, 1726. Here he found that Miss Read, to whom he had 
become engaged before leaving for England and to whom he had written only 
once during his absence, had married. Shortly after starting in business, Mr. 
Denham died, and thus left Franklin to commence life again for himself. Kei- 
mer had by this time obtained a fairly extensive establishment, and employed a 




PENN'S RESIDENCE IN SECOND STREET, BELOW CHESTNUT STREET. 



number of hands, but none of them of much value ; and he made overtures to 
Franklin to take the management of his printing-office. Franklin set the print- 
ing-house in order, started type-founding, made the ink, and, when necessary, 



executed ens^ravings. 



While working for Keimer, Franklin formed a club, called the Junto, which 
was destined to exert considerable influence on American politics. It was essen- 
tially a debating society, the subject for each evening's discussion being proposed 

at the preceding meeting. The Club lasted for about forty years, and became 
-.6 



562 "POOR RICHARD'S ALMANACKr 

the nucleus of the American Philosophical Society, of which Franklin was the 
first president. 

On leaving Kelmer's, Franklin went into partnership with one of his fellow- 
workmen, Hugh Meredith, whose father found the necessary capital, and a print- 
ing-office was started which soon excelled its two rivals in Philadelphia. Frank- 
lin's industry attracted the attention of the townsfolk, and inspired the merchants 
with confidence in the prospects of the new concern. 

" In order to secure my credit and character as a tradesman, I took care not 
only to be in reality industrious and frugal, but to avoid all appearances to the 
contrary. I drest plainly ; I was seen at no places of idle diversion. I never 
went out a-fishing or shooting ; a book, indeed, sometimes debauch'd me from 
my work, but that was seldom, snug, and gave no scandal ; and, to show that I 
was not above my business, I sometimes brought home the paper I purchas'd at 
the stores thro' the streets on a wheelbarrow. Thus being esteem'd an indus- 
trious, thriving young man, and paying duly for what I bought, the merchants 
who imported stationery solicited my custom ; others proposed supplying me with 
books, and I went on swimmingly. In the meantime, Keimer's credit declin- 
ing daily, he was at last forc'd to sell his printing-house to satisfy his creditors." 

On September i, 1750, Franklin married his {orm&r fiancee, whose previous 
husband had left her and was reported to have died in the West Indies. The 
marriage was a very happy one. Industry and frugality reigned in the house- 
hold of the young printer. Mrs. Franklin not only managed the house, but 
assisted in the business, folding and stitching pamphlets, and in other ways 
makinof herself useful. 

PUBLIC SERVICE AND RESPONSIBILITY. 

In 1732 appeared the first copy of " Poor Richard's Almanack." This was 
published by Franklin for about twenty-five years in succession, and attained a 
worldwide fame. Besides the usual astronomical information, it contained a 
collection of entertaining anecdotes, verses, jests, etc., while the "little spaces 
that occurred between the remarkable events in the calendar" were filled with 
proverbial sayings, inculcating industry and frugality as helps to virtue. These 
sayings were collected and prefixed to the almanack of 1757, whence they were 
copied into the American newspapers, and afterward reprinted as a broad-sheet 
in England and in France. ■ 

In 1736 Franklin was chosen Clerk to the General Assembly, an office to 
which he was annually re-elected until he became a member of the Assembly 
about 1750. There was one member who, on the second occasion of his 
election, made a long speech against him. Franklin determined to secure the 
friendship of this member. Accordingly, he wrote to him to request the loan 
of a very scarce and curious book which was in his library. The book was lent 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 5^3 

and returned in about a week, with a note of thanks. The member ever after 
manifested a readiness to serve Franklin, and they became great friends — 
"Another instance of the truth of an old maxim I had learned, which says, 'Hi 
that has once doiie you a kindness mill be more ready to do you another than he 
whofn you yourself have obliged.' And it shows how much more profitable it is 
to prudently remove, than to resent, return, and continue inimical proceedings." 

Spain, having been for some years at war with England, was joined at length 
by France. This threatened danger to the American colonies. Franklin pub- 
lished a pamphlet entitled "Plain Truth," setting forth the unarmed condition 
of the colonies, and recommending the formation of a volunteer force for 
defensive purposes. The pamphlet excited much attention. The provision of 
war material was a difficulty with the Assembly, which consisted largely of 
Quakers, who, though privately willing that the country should be put in a state 
of defense, hesitated to vote in opposition to their peace principles. Hence, 
when the Government of New England asked a grant of gunpowder from Penn- 
sylvania, the Assembly voted /3000 "for the purchasing of bread, flour, wheat, 
or other graiji!' When it was proposed to devote ^60 toward the erection of 
a battery below the town, Franklin suggested that it should be proposed that a 
fire-engine be purchased with the money, and that the committee should "buy 
a great gun, which is certainly 3^ Ji re-engine." 

The "Pennsylvania fireplace" was invented in 1742. A patent was offered 
to Franklin by the Governor of Pennsylvania, but he declined it on the principle 
" that, as we enjoy great advantages frotn the inventions of others, we sho^ild bt 
glad of an opportunity to serve others by any invention of ours; and this we 
should do freely and generously.^' 

Having practically retired from business, Franklin intended to devote him- 
self to philosophical studies, having commenced his electrical researches some 
time before in conjunction with the other members of the Library Company. 
Public business, however, crowded upon him. He was elected a member of the 
Assembly, a councillor, and afterward an alderman of the city, and by the 
Governor was made a justice of the peace. As a member of the Assembly, he 
was largely concerned in providing the means for the erection of a hospital, and 
in arranging for the paving and cleansing of the streets of the city. In 1753 he 
was appointed, in conjunction with Mr. Hunter, Postmaster-General of America, 
The post-office of the colonies had previously been conducted at a loss. In a few 
years, under Franklin's management, it not only paid the stipends of himself 
and Mr. Hunter, but yielded a considerable revenue to the Crown. 

In 1754 war with France appeared to be again imminent, and a Congress 
of Commissioners from the several colonies was arranged for. Of course, 
Franklin was one of the representatives of Pennsylvania, and was also one of 
the members who independently drew up a plan for the union of all the colonies 



564 JOURNEY TO ENGLAND 

under one government, for defensive and other general purposes, and his was 
the plan finally approved by Congress for the union, though it was not accepted 
by the Assemblies or by the English Government, being regarded by the former 
as having too much of Xh& prerogative in it, by the latter as being too democratic, 
Franklin wrote respecting this scheme : " The different and contrary reasons of 
dislike to my plan makes me suspect that it was really the true medium ; and I 
am still of opinion that it would have been happy for both sides the water if it 
had been adopted. The colonies, so united, would have been sufficiently strong 
to have defended themselves ; there would then have been no need of troops 
from England ; of course, the subsequent pretense for taxing America, and the 
bloody contest it occasioned, would have been avoided." 

In the following year General Braddock started on his famous expedition 
against Fort Duquesne. Franklin's services were called for in providing 
horses and wagons from the Pennsylvania farmers : and in the disastrous defeat 
which Braddock suffered, and in the long years of the French and Indian war 
which followed, Franklin took a prominent part in devising means of protection 
for the Colonies. When at last the war was ended by the victory and death 
of Wolfe on the heights of Quebec, Franklin's attention was turned to the 
relations of the Colonies to the mother country, vv'hich were becoming daily 
more strained by the oppressions of the British Parliament. 

FRANKLIN SENT TO ENGLAND. 

In 1757 Franklin was sent by the Assembly of Pennsylvania to London, 
to present a remonstrance against the conduct of the Governor, who refused to 
assent to bills for raising revenue for the king unless the proprietary estates 
were exempted from taxation. When Franklin reached London he took up his 
abode with Mrs. Margaret Stevenson. For Mrs. Stevenson and her daughter 
Mary, then a young lady of eighteen, he acquired a sincere affection, which con- 
tinued throughout their lives. Miss Stevenson spent much of her time with an 
aunt in the country, and some of Franklin's letters to her respecting the con- 
duct of her "higher education " are among the most interesting of his wridngs. 
In coming to England, Franklin brought with him his son William, who entered 
on the study of law. To his wife and daughter Franklin frequently sent pres- 
ents, and his letters to Mrs. Franklin give a pretty full account of all his doings 
while in England. During his visit he received the honorary degrees of D.C.L. 
from the University of Oxford, and LL.D. from that of Edinburgh. In August, 
1762, he started again for America, and reached Philadelphia on November 
I, after an absence of five years. His son William had shortly before been 
appointed Governor of New Jersey. From this time William Franklin became 
very much the servant of the proprietaries and of the English government, but 
no offer of patronage produced any effect on the father. 



FOLLY OF THE STAMP ACT. 565 

Franklin's stay in America was of short duration. While there he was 
mainly instrumental in quelling an insurrection in Pennsylvania, and was en- 
gaged in long and tedious efforts to compose the incessant disputes between 
the Assembly and the proprietary governors. As soon as the Assembly was 
convened, it determined to send Franklin to England, to take charge of a peti- 
tion for a change of government. The merchants subscribed ^^iioo toward 
his expenses in a few hours, and in twelve days he was on his journey, being 
accompanied to the ship by a cavalcade of three hundred of his friends. ArriveOi 
in London, he at once took up his old lodgings with Mrs. Stevenson. He was a 
master of satire, equaled only by Swift, and during the quarrels which preceded 
the War of Independence, as well as during the war, he made good use of his 
powers. 

One of Franklin's chief objects in coming to England was to prevent the 
passing of the Stamp Act. The colonists urged that they had always been 
liberal in their votes, whenever money was required by the Crown, and that 
Parliament had no right to tax America so long as the colonists were unrepre- 
sented in Parliament. " Had Mr. Grenville, instead of that act, applied to the 
King in Council for requisitional letters, I am sure he would have obtained more 
money from the colonies by their voluntary grants than he himself expected 
from the sale of stamps. But he chose compulsion rather than persuasion, and 
would not receive from their good-will what he thought he could obtain without 
it." The Stamp Act was passed, stamps were printed, distributors were ap- 
pointed, but the colonists would have nothing to do with the stamps. The 
distributors were com_pelled to resign their commissions, and the captains of 
vessels were forbidden to land the stamped paper. The cost of printing and 
distributing amounted to ^12,000; the whole return was about ^1500, and 
that mainly from Canada and the West Indies. 

In 1767 Franklin visited Paris. Though Parliament had repealed the Stamp 
Act, it nevertheless insisted on its right to tax the colonies. The Duty Act was 
scarcely less objectionable than its predecessors. On Franklin's return from 
the continent, he heard of the retaliatory measures of the Boston people, who 
had assembled in town-meetings, formally resolved to encourage home manu- 
factures, to abandon superfluities, and, after a certain time, to give up the use oil 
some articles of foreign manufacture. 

A quantity of tea sent by the East India Company to Boston was destroyed 
by the people. The British Government then blockaded the port. This soon led 
to open hostilities. Franklin worked hard to effect a reconciliation. He drew 
up a scheme, setting forth the conditions under which he conceived a reconcilia- 
tion might be brought about, and discussed it fully with Mr. Daniel Barclay and 
Dr. Fothergill. This scheme was shown to Lord Howe, and afterward brought 
before the Ministry, but was rejected. All his negotiations were fruitless. At 



566 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

last he addressed a memorial to the Earl of Dartmouth, Secretary of State, 
complaining of the blockade of Boston, which had then continued for nine 
months, and had " during every week of its condnuance done damage to that 
town equal to what was suffered there by the India Company ;" and claiming 
reparation for such injury beyond the value of the tea which had been destroyed. 
This memorial was returned to Franklin by Mr. Walpole, and Franklin shortly 
afterward returned to Philadelphia. 

THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. 

Before Franklin reached America, the War of Independence, though not 
formally declared, had fairly begun. He was appointed a member of the second 
Continental Congress, and one of a committee to confer with General Washing- 
ton respecting the Continental Army. On October 3, 1775, he wrote to 
Priestley : — 

"Tell our dear good friend. Dr. Price, who sometimes has his doubts and 
despondencies about our firmness, that America is determined and unanimous ; 
a very few Tories and placemen excepted, who will probably soon export 
themselves. Britain, at the expense of three millions, has killed a hundred and 
fifty Yankees this campaign, which is ^20,000 a head ; and at Bunker's Hill she 
gained a mile of ground, half of which she lost again by our taking the post on 
Ploughed Hill. During the same time sixty thousand children have been born 
in America. From these data his mathematical head will easily calculate the 
time and expense necessary to kill us all and conquer our whole territory." 

On the 4th of July Franklin took part in the signing of the Declaration of 
Independence. When the document was about to be signed, Mr. Hancock 
remarked, "We must be unanimous ; there must be no pulling different ways; 
we must all hang together." Franklin replied, " Yes, we must indeed all hang 
together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately." 

In the autumn of 1776 Franklin was unanimously chosen a Special Com- 
missioner to the French Court. He took with him his two grandsons, William 
Temple Franklin and Benjamin Franklin Bache, and leaving Marcus Hook on 
October 28th, crossed the Atlantic in a sloop of sixteen guns. In Paris he met 
with an enthusiastic reception. M. de Chaumont placed at his disposal his house 
at Passy, about a mile from Paris. Here he resided for nine years, being a con- 
stant visitor at the French Court, and certainly one of the most conspicuous 
figures in Paris. He was obliged to serve in many capacities, and was very much 
burdened with work. Not only were there his duties as Commissioner at the 
French Court, but he was also made Admiralty Judge and Financial Agent. 
so that all financial negotiations, either with the French Government or con- 
tractors, had to pass through his hands. Perhaps the most unpleasant part 
of his work was his continued applications to the French Court for monetary 



AID FRuM FRANCE. 



5S7 



advances. The French Government warmly espoused the cause of the Ameri- 
cans, and to die utmost of its ability assisted them with money, material, and 
men. 




SIGNING THE AMERICAN DECI.AKATION OF INDKPENDENCH. 



At first the British Government, regarding tite Americans as rebels, did not 
treat their prisoners as prisoners of war, but threatened to try thetn for hi^h 
treason. Their sufferings in the English prisons were very great. Mr. David 
Hartley did much to relieve them, and Franklin transmitted money for the pur- 



568 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

pose. When a treaty had been formed between France and the United States, 
and fortune began to turn in favor of the united armies, the American prisoners 
received better treatment from the English Government, and exchanges took 
place freely. 

Jn a letter to Mr. Hartley, Franklin showed something of the feelings oi 
the Americans with respect to the English at that time : — 

" You may have heard that accounts upon oath have been taken in America 
by order of Congress, of the British barbarities committed there. It is expected 
of me to make a school-book of them, and to have thirty-five prints designed 
here by good artists, and engraved, each expressing one or more of the horrid 
facts, in order to impress the minds of children and posterity with a deep sense 
of your bloody and insatiable malice and wickedness. Every kindness I hear 
of done by an Englishman to an American prisoner makes me resolve not to 
proceed in the work." 

Franklin always advocated freedom of commerce, even in time of war. He 
was of opinion that the merchant, the agriculturist, and the fisherman were bene- 
factors to mankind. He condemned privateering in every form, and endeav- 
ored to bring about an agreement between all the civilized powers against the 
fitting out of privateers. He held that no merchantman should be interfered with 
unless carrj'ing war material. He greatly lamented the horrors of the war, but 
preferred anything to a dishonorable peace. To Priestley he wrote : — 

" Perhaps as you grow older you may . . . repent of having murdered in 
mephitic air so many honest, harmless mice, and wish that, to prevent mischief, 
you had used boys and girls instead of them. In what light we are viewed by 
superior beings may be gathered from a piece of late West India news, which 
possibly has not yet reached you. A young angel of distinction, being sent down 
to this world on some business for the first time, had an old courier-spirit assigned 
him as a guide. They arrived over the seas of Martinico, in the middle of the 
long day of obstinate fight between the fleets of Rodney and De Grasse. When, 
through the clouds of smoke, he saw the fire of the afuns, the decks covered with 
mangled limbs and bodies dead or dying ; the ships sinking, burning, or blown 
into the air ; and the quantity of pain, misery, and destruction the crews yet 
alive were thus with so much eagerness dealing round to one another, — he 
turned angrily to his guide, and said, ' You blundering blockhead, you are igno- 
rant of your business ; you undertook to conduct me to the earth, and you have 
brought me into hell !' ' No, sir,' says the guide, ' I have made no mistake ; this is 
really the earth, and these are men. Devils never treat one another in this cruel 
manner ; they have more sense and more of what men (vainly) call humanity.' " 

Franklin maintained that it would be far cheaper for a nation to extend its 
possessions by purchase from other nations than to pay the cost of war for the 
sake of conquest. 



VJEWS ON RELIGION. 569 

At last, after two years' negotiations, a definitive treaty of peace wa? 
signed between Great Britain and tlie United States, Franklin being one of the 
Commissioners for the latter, and Mr. Hartley for the former, and therewith 
terminated the seven years' War of Independence. Franklin celebrated the 
surrender of the armies of Burgoyne and Cornwallis bv a medal, on which the 
infant Hercules appears strangling two serpents. 

RETURN TO AMERICA. 

' On May 2, 1785, Franklin received from Congress permission to return tu 
America. He was then in his eightieth year. On July 12th he left Passy for 
Havre, whence he crossed to Southampton, and there saw for the last time his 
old friend, the Bishop of St. Asaph, and his family. He reached his home in 
Philadelphia early in September, and the day after his arrival he received a 
congratulatory address from the Assembly of Pennsylvania. In the following 
month he was elected President of the State, and was twice re-elected to the 
same office, it being contrary to the Constitution for any President to be elected 
for more than three years in succession. 

The following extract from a letter, written most probably to Thomas Paine, 
is worthy of the attention of some writers : — 

" I have read your manuscript with some attention. By the argument it 
contains against a particular Providence, though you allow a general Providence, 
you strike at the foundations of all religion. For without the belief of a Provi- 
dence that takes cognizance of guards and guides, and may favor particular 
persons, there is no motive to worship a Deity, to fear His displeasure, or to 
pray for His protection. I will not enter into any discussion of your principles, 
though you seem to desire it. But were you to succeed, do you imagine an) 
good would be done by it? You yourself may find it easy to live a virtuous 
life without the assistance afforded by religion ; you having a clear perception 
of the advantages of virtue and the disadvantages of vice, and possessing 
strength of resolution sufficient to enable you to resist common temptations. 
But think how great a portion of mankind consists of weak and ignorant men 
and women, and of inexperienced, inconsiderate youth of both sexes, who have 
need of the motives of religion to restrain them from vice, to support their 
virtue, and retain them in the practice of it till it becomes habitual, which is the 
great point for its security. And perhaps you are indebted to her originally, 
that is, to your religious education, for the habits of virtue upon which you 
now justly value yourself You might easily display your excellent talents of 
reasoning upon a less hazardous subject, and thereby obtain a rank with our 
most distinguished authors. For among us it is not necessary, as among the 
Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the company of men, should prove 
his manhood by beating his mother. 



57° 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 



"I would advise you, therefore, not to attempt unchaining the tiger, but to 
burn this piece before it is seen by any other person ; whereby you will save 

yourself a great deal of mortification by 
the enemies it may raise against you, 
and perhaps a good deal of regret and 
repentance. If men are so wicked with 
religion, what would they be if zvithout 
it? I intend this letter itself as a pfoof 
of my friendship, and therefore add no 
professions to it ; but subscribe simply 
yours." 

During the last few years of his life 
Franklin suffered from a painful disease, 
which confined him to his bed and seri- 
ously interfered with his literary work, 
preventing him from completing his bio- 
graphy. During this time he was cared 
for by his daughter, Mrs. Bache, who 
resided in the same house with him. He 
died on April 17, 1790, the immediate 
cause of death being an affection of 
the lungs. He was buried beside his wife in the cemetery of Christ Church, 
Philadelphia, the marble slab upon the grave bearing no other inscription than 
the name and date of death. In his early days (1728) he had written the fol- 
lowing epitaoh for himself: — 

The Body 

OF 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 

Printer 
(like the cover of an old book, 
its contents torn out 

AND STRIPT OF ITS LETTERING AND GILDINg), 
; LIES HERE, FOOD FOR WORiMS. 

BUT THE WORK SHALL NOT BE LOST, 

FOR IT WILL (as he BELIEVED) APPEAR ONCE MORE 

IN A NEW AND MORE ELEGANT EDITION, 

REVISED AND CORRECTED 




FRANKLIN S GRAVE. 



THE AUTHOR. 



THOMAS JEFFERSON, 



The pioneer ok deiviocracy in amkrica. 



AT the beginning- of the nine- 
teenth century the people 
of the United States may 
be said to have been di- 
vided into two classes, — ■ 
those who thought Thomas 
Jefferson the greatest and 
wisest of living men. and 
those who believed him the 
worst and most dangerous. 
The French Revolution, 
that great uprising of the 
masses against the oppres- 
sions of despotic power, 
had then divided public 
opinion throughout the 
whole civilized world. Jef- 
ferson was at the head of 
the party which sympa- 
thized with the common 
people, and advocated theii 
cause. The opposite party, 
shocked and horrified at 
the excesses committed by 
the revolutionists in France^ 
looked upon everything democratic with indescribable fear and aversion. 
These extremes of opinion make it difficult, even at this day, to get a fair and 
moderate opinion of Jefferson. He is either a fiend incarnate or an angel of 
light. But whether the principles for which he stood be approved or con- 
demned, their success at least cannot be denied. Jefferson was the pioneer 
of democracy, the apostle of the sovereignty of the common peopJe, which 

571 




PRESIDENT JEFFERSON'S ENVOY PURCHASES LOUISIANA 
FROM NAPOLEON, EMPEROR OF FRANCE. 



.572 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

from his time to the present has become every year more firmly rooted in 
American politics ; and whether it be for good or ill, it is for this that he will be 
remembered in the centuries yet to come. 

Thomas Jefferson was born in 1743, near the site of the present town of 
Charlottesville, Virginia. His father, Peter Jefferson, owned a plantation of 
fourteen hundred acres called Shadwell, from the name of the parish in London 
where his wife was born. His home was literally hewn out of the wilderness. 
There were but few white settlers within many miles of the mansion which con- 
sisted of a spacious story and a half cottage-house. A wide hall and four large 
rooms occupied the lower floor. Above these there were good chambers and a 
spacious garret. Two huge outside chimneys contributed to the picturesque 
aspect of the mansion. It was delightfully situated upon a gentle swell of land 
on the slopes of the Blue Ridge, and commanded a sublime prospect of far- 
reachingf mountains and forests. 

Thomas was naturally of a serious, pensive, reflective turn of mind. From 
the time he was five years of age he was kept diligently at school under the best 
teachers. He was a general favorite with both teachers and scholars. In the year 
I 760 he entered William and Mary College. Williamsburg was then the seat 
of the colonial court, and the abode of fashion and splendor. Young Jefferson 
lived in college somewhat expensively, keeping horses, and much caressed 
by gay society. Still he was earnestly devoted to his studies and irreproachable 
in his morals. 

In 1767 he entered upon the practice of the law. His thoroughly disci- 
plined mind, ample stores of knowledge, and polished address, were rapidly 
raisine him to distinction, when the outbreak of the Revolation introduced him 
to loftier spheres of responsibility. He had been but a short time admitted to 
the bar ere he was chosen by his fellow-citizens to a seat in the Legislature of 
Virginia. This was in 1769. Jefferson was then the largest slaveholder in the 
house. It is a remarkable evidence of his foresight, his moral courage, and the 
love of liberty which inspired him, that he introduced a bill empowering slave- 
holders to manumit their slaves if they wished to do so. Slavery caught the 
alarm. The proposition was rejected by an overwhelming vote. 

In 1772 he married Mrs. Martha Skelton, a very beautiful, wealthy, and 
highly accomplished young widow. She brought to him, as her munificent 
dowry, forty thousand acres of land, and one hundred and thirty-five slaves. 
He thus became one of the largest slaveholders in Virginia; and yet he labored 
with all his energies for the abolition of slavery; declaring the institution to be 
a curse to the master, a curse to the slave, and an offense in the sight of God. 

In 1775 Jefferson was chosen a member of the Continental Congress, and 
in June of that year he left Williamsburg to take his seat in the Congress 
at Philadelphia. He was the youngest member in the body but one. His 



THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. 573 

reputation as a writer had preceded him, and he immediately took a conspicu- 
ous stand, though he seldom spoke. The native suavity of Jefferson, his mod- 
esty, and the frankness and force with which he expressed his views captivated 
even his opponents. It is said that he had not an enemy in Congress. 

WRITING THE GREAT DECLARATION. 

When the time came for drafting the " Declaration of Independence," that 
great task was committed to Jefferson. Franklin and Adams suggested a few 
changes before it was submitted to Congress. The Declaration passed a fiery 
ordeal of criticism. For three days the debate continued. Mr. Jefferson opened 
not his lips. John Adams was the great champion of the Declaration on the 
floor. One may search all the ages to find a more solemn, momentous event than 
the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It was accompanied with 
prayer to Almighty God. Silence pervaded the room as one after another 
affixed his name to that document, which brought down upon him the implacable 
hate of the mightiest power upon the globe, and which doomed him inevitably to 
the scaffold, should the feeble colonies fail in the unequal struggle. 

In 1779, Mr. Jefferson was chosen governor of Virginia. He was then 
thirty-six years of age. The British were now preparing to strike their heaviest 
blows upon the South. Georgia had fallen helpless into the hands of the foe ; 
South Carolina was invaded, and Charleston threatened. At one time the 
British officer Tarleton, sent a secret expedition to Monticello to capture the 
governor. Scarcely five minutes elapsed after the hurried escape of Mr. Jeffer- 
son and his family ere Jiis mansion was in the possession of the British troops. 
A detachment of the army of Cornwallis.in their march north from the Carolinas, 
seized also another plantation which he owned on the James river. The foe 
destroyed all his crops, burnt his barns and fences, drove off the cattle, seized 
the serviceable horses, cut the throats of the colts, and left the whole plantation 
a smouldering, blackened waste. Twenty-seven slaves were also carried off. 
" Had he carried off the slaves," says Jefferson with characteristic magnanimity, 
"to give them freedom, he would have done right." 

The English ministry were now getting tired of the war. The opposition 
in Parliament had succeeded in carrying a resolution on the 4th of March, i 782, 
"That all those who should advise, or by any means attempt, the further prose- 
cution of offensive war in America, should be considered as enemies of their 
king and country." This popular decision overcame the obstinacy of the king, 
and he was compelled to make overtures for peace. 

Mr. Jefferson had wonderful power of winning men to his opinions, while 
he scrupulously avoided all controversy. The following extract from a letter to 
his grandson brings clearly to light this trait in his character : — 

" In stating prudential rules for our government in society, I must not omit 



574 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 



the important one of never entering into dispute or argument with another. I 
never yet saw an instance of one of two disputants convincing the other by 
argument ; I have seen many, of their getting warm, becoming rude, and shoot- 
Conviciion is the effect of our own dispassionate reasoning, 



ingf one another. 




INDEPENDENCE HALL, PHILADELPHL^. 



either in solitude or weighing within ourselves dispassionately what we hear 
from others, standing uncommitted in argument ourselves. It was one of the 
rules, which, above all others, made Dr, Fraiiklm the most amiable of men in 
society, 'never to contradict anybody.'" 



RETURN FROM FRANCE. 575 

In May, 1784, Congress appointed Mr. Jefferson to act as minister with 
Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin in negotiating treaties of commerce with foreign 
nations. Leaving two daughters with their aunt, he took his eldest daughter 
Martha with him and sailed for Europe. After a delightful voyage he reached 
Paris on the 6th of August. Here he placed his daughter at school, and, meet- 
ing his colleagues at Passy, engaged vigorously with them in accomplishing the 
object of his mision. Dr. Franklin, now aged and infirm, obtained permission 
to return home from his embassy to France. His genial character, combined 
with his illustrious merit, had won the love of the French people ; and he was 
unboundedly popular with both peasant and prince. Such attentions were 
lavished upon him in his journey from Paris to the coast, that it was almost an 
ovation. It was, indeed, a delicate matter to step into the position which had 
been occupied by one so enthusiastically admired. Few men could have done 
this so gracefully as did Jefferson. 

"You replace Monsieur Franklin, I hear," said the celebrated French 
minister, the Count de Vergennes. "I succeed him," was the prompt reply: 
"no man can replace him." 

SECRETARY OF STATE. 

In September, 1 789, Jefferson returned with his daughter to America. 
Immediately upon his return from France, Washington wrote to him in the most 
flattering terms, urging upon him a seat in his cabinet as Secretary of State. 
After some conference he accepted the appointment. His eldest daughter, 
Martha, was married on the 23d of February, 1790, to Colonel Thomas M. 
Randolph. A few days after the wedding, on the ist of March, Mr. Jefferson 
set out for New York, which was then the seat of government. He went by 
way of Richmond and Alexandria. The roads were horrible. At the latter 
place he took a stage, sending his carriage round by water, and leading his 
horses. Through snow and mud, their speed seldom exceeded three or four 
miles an hour by day, and one mile an hour by night. A fortnight, of great 
fatigue, was consumed in the journey. Occasionally Jefferson relieved the 
monotony of the dreary ride by mounting his led saddle-horse. At Philadel- 
phia he called upon his friend Benjamin Franklin, then in his last illness. 

The American Revolution did not originate in hostility to a monarchical 
form of government, but in resisting the oppressions which that government 
was inflicting upon the American people. Consequently, many persons, who 
were most active in the Revolution, would have been very willing to see an 
independent monarchy established here. But Mr. Jefferson had seen so much 
of the pernicious influence of kings and courts in Europe that he had become 
an intense republican. Upon his arrival in New York he was much surprised 
at the freedom with which many persons advocated a monarchical government 
He writes,— 



'57^ 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 



" I cannot describe the wonder and mortification with which the table con- 
■versation filled me. Politics were the chief topic ; and a preference of a kingly 
■over a republican government was evidently the favorite sentiment. An apos- 
tate I could not be, nor yet a hypocrite ; and I found myself, for the most part, 
the only advocate on the republican side of the question, unless among the 
guests there chanced to be some member of that party from the legislative 
houses." 

President Washington watched with great anxiety the rising storm, and did 
all he could to quell its fury. His cabinet was divided. General Hamilton, 
Secretary of the Treasury, was leader of the so-called Federal party. Mr, 




STAGE-COACH OF JEFFERSON S TIME. 



Jefferson, Secretary of State, was leader of the Republican party. On the 30th 
of September, 1792, as he was going from Monticello to the seat of govern- 
ment, he stopped, as usual, at Mount Vernon, and spent a night with President 
Washington. Mr. Jefferson makes the following record in his note-book of this 
interview, which shows conclusively that President Washington did not agree 
with Mr. Jefferson in his belief that there was a strong monarchical party in this 
country : — 

"The President," he writes, "expressed his concern at the difference which 
he found to subsist between the Secretary of the Treasury and myself, of which, 
he said, he had not been aware. He knew, indeed, that there was a marked 
•difference in our political sentiments : but he had never suspected it had gone 



DISPUTES WITH HAMILTON. 



577 



I 



on iiar in producing a personal dift'erence, and he wished he could be the mediator 
to put an end to it ; that he thought it important to preserve the check of my 
opinions in the administration, in order to keep things in their proper channel, 
and prevent them from going too far ; that, as to the idea of transformiui^ this 
government into a monarchy, he did not believe there were ten men in the United 
States, zvhose opinions were worth attentioti, who entertained such a thought!' 

Some important financial measures which were proposed by Mr. Hamilton. 
Mr. Jefferson violently opposed. They were, however, sustained by the cabinet, 
adopted by both houses of the legislature, and approved by the President. The 
enemies of Mr. Jefferson now pressed him with the charge of indelicacy in hold- 
ing office under a government whose leading measures he opposed. Bitter was 
the warfare waged between the two hostile secretaries. Hamilton accused 
Jefferson of lauding the constitution in public, while in private he had admitted 
that it contained those imperfections of 'i^auC o/pozuer which Hamilton laid to its 
charge. 

The President seems to have been in accord with Mr. Jefferson in his views 
of the importance of maintaining cordial relations with France. Both England 
and Spain were then making encroachments upon us, very menacing in their 
aspect. The President, in a conversation with Mr. Jefferson, on the 27th of 
December, 1792, urged the necessity of making sure of the alliance with P'rance 
in the event of a rupture with either of these powers. " There is no nation," 
said he, "on whom we can rely at all times, but France." This had long been 
one of the fundamental principles of Mr. Jefferson's policy. Upon the election 
of President Washington to his second term of office, Mr. Jefferson wished to 
retire from the Cabinet. Dissatisfaction with the measures of the government 
was doubtless a leading cause. At the earnest solicitation, however, of the 
President, he consented to remain in his position, which was daily becoming 
more uncomfortable, until the last of July, when he again sent in his resignation. 
But still again President Washington so earnestly entreated him to remain, that, 
very reluctantly, he consented to continue in office until the close of the year. 

Every day the political horizon was growing more stormy. All Europe 
was in the blaze of war. England, the most powerful monarchy on the globe, 
was straining every nerve to crush the French Revolution. The haughty course 
which the British government pursued toward the United States had exasper- 
ated even the placid Washington. He wrote to General Hamilton on the 31st. 
of August, 1794; — 

" By these high-handed measures of that government, and the outrageous 
and insulting conduct of its officers, it would seem next to impossible to keep 
peace between the United States and Great Britain." 

Even John Adams became aroused. Two years after, he wrote, in refer- 
ence to the cool treatment which his son, John Quincy Adams, had received in 
37 



578 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

England : " I am glad of it ; for I would not have my son go as far as Mn 
Jay, and affirm the friendly disposition of that country to this. I know better. 
I know their jealousy, envy, hatred, and revenge, covered under pretended 
contempt." Jefferson's slumbering energies were electrified ; he wrote fiery 
letters, and by his conversational eloquence moved all who approached him. 

A new presidential election came on. John Adams was the Federal can- 
diate ; Thomas Jefferson the Republican. It does not appear that Mr. Jefferson 
was at all solicitous of being elected. Indeed, he wrote to Mr. Madison, "There 
is nothing I so anxiously hope as that my name may come out either second or 
third ; as the last would leave me at home the whole of the year, and the other 
two-thirds of it." Alluding to t;he possibility that "the representatives maybe 
divided," he makes the remarkable declaration, of the sincerity of which no one 
who knows the man can doubt, "This is a difficulty from which the Constitution 
has provided no issue. It is both- itvy-duty and inclination' therefore, to relieve 
the embarrassment, should it happen ; and, in that case I pray you, and autho- 
rize you fully, to solicit on my behalf that Mr. Adams may be preferred. He 
has always been my senior from the commencement of our public life ; and, the 
expression of the public will being equal, this circumstance ought to give him 
the preference." 

As the result of the election, Mr. Adams became President, and Mr. Jef- 
ferson, Vice-President. This rendered it necessary for him to leave Monticello 
for a few months each year to attend the sessions of Congress. His numerous 
letters to his children show how weary he had become of party strife, with 
what reluctance he left his home, with what joy he returned to it. 

In June, 1800, Congress moved from Philadelphia to Washington. The 
new seat of government, literally hewn out of the wilderness, was a dreary place. 
Though for twelve years workmen had been employed in that lonely, uninhab- 
ited, out-of-the-way spot, in putting up the public buildings, there was nothing 
as yet finished ; and vast piles of stone and brick and mortar were scattered 
at great distances from each other, with swamps or sand-banks intervening. 

Mrs. John Adams, who had seen the residences of royalty in Europe, — 
Buckingham Palace, Versailles, and the Tuileries, — gives an amusing account 
of their entrance upon the splendors of the " White House." In trying to find 
Washington from Baltimore, they got lost in the woods. After driving for some 
time, bewildered in forest paths, they chanced to come upon a black man, whom 
they hired to guide them through the forest. "The house," she writes, "is 
upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend, and 
keep the apartments in proper order. The fires we are obliged to keep, to 
secure us from daily agues, are another very cheering comfort ; but, surrounded 
with forests, can you believe that wood is not to be had, because people cannot 
be round to cut and cart it?" 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 579 

The four years of Mr. Jefferson's Vice-Presidency passed joylessly away, 
while the storm of partisan strife between Federalist and Republican was ever 
growing hotter. General Hamilton, who was a great power in those days, 
became as much alienated from Mr. Adams as from Jefferson. There was a 
split in the Federal party. A new presidential election came on. Mr. Jeffer- 
son was chosen President ; and Aaron Burr, Vice-President. 

THE TEOPLE's president. 

The news of the election of Jefferson was received in most parts of the 
Union with the liveliest demonstrations of joy. He was the leader of the suc- 
cessful and rapidly increasing party. His friends were found in every city and 
village in our land. They' had been taught to believe that the triumph of the 
opposite party would be the triumph of aristocratic privilege and of civil and 
religious despotism.* On the other hand, many of the Federalists turned pale 
when the tidings reached them that Thomas Jefferson was President of the 
United States. Both the pulpit and the press had taught them that he was the 
incarnation of all evil, — an infidel, an atheist, a scoffer at all things sacred ; a 
leveler, a revolutionist, an advocate of mob government. 

Jefferson was exceedingly simple in his tastes, having a morbid dislike of 
all that court etiquette which had disgusted him so much in Europe. Washing- 
ton rode to the halls of Congress in state, drawn by six cream-colored horses. 
Jefferson, on the morning of his inauguration, rode on horseback to the Capitol 
in a dress of plain cloth, without guard or servant, dismounted without assist- 
ance, and fastened the bridle of his horse to the fence. It may be that Mr. 
Jefferson had allowed his mind to become so thoroughly imbued with the con- 
viction that our government was drifting towards monarchy and aristocracy, 
that he felt bound to set the example of extreme democratic simplicity. 

The political principles of the Jeffersonian party now swept the country, 
and Mr. Jefferson swayed an influence which was never exceeded by Washing- 
ton himself. Louisiana, under which name was then included the whole territory 
west of the Mississippi to the Pacific, was purchased of France, under his admin- 
istration, in the year 1803, for fifteen millions of dollars. 

He was now smitten by another domestic grief. In the year 1804 his beau- 
tiful daughter M^ria, whom he so tenderly loved, sank into the grave, leaving- 
her babe behind her. His eldest daughter, Martha, speaking of her father's 
suffering under this terrible grief says, — 

" I found him with the Bible in his hands. He who has been so often and 
so harshly accused of unbelief, — he, in his hour of intense affliction, sought and 
found consolation In the sacred volume. The comforter was there for his true 
heart and devout spirit, even though his faith might not be what the world calls 
orthodox." 



5So 



SECOND lERM AS PRESIDENT. 



Another presidential election came in 1804. Mr. Jefferson was reelected 
President with wonderful unanimity ; and George Clinton, Vice-President. Jef- 
ferson was sixty- two years of age, when, on the 4th of March, 1805, he entered 
upon his second term of office. Our relations with England were daily becom 
ing more complicated, from the British demand of the right to stop any of our 
ships, whether belonging to either the commercial or naval marine, and to take 
from them any sailors whom they felt disposed to claim as British subjects. The 
course England pursued rendered it certain that war could not be avoided. Mr. 
Jefferson humanely did everything in his power to prevent the Indians from 




STUMP SPEAKING IN I'l.: 



•:n- 'riMi.s. 



taking any part in it whatever. The British, on the contrary, were endeavoring 
to rouse them to deluge the frontiers in blood. Strange as it may now seem, 
the measures of government to redress these wrongs were virulently opposed. 
But notwithstanding the strength and influence of the opposition to Mr. Jeffer- 
son's administration, he was sustained by the general voice of the nation. 

In the year 1808 Mr. Jefferson closed his second term of office, and James 
Madison succeeded him as President of the United States. In the following 
terms the retiring President e^nresses to a friend his feelings upon surrendering 
the cares of office : — 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 58 1 

" Within a few days I retire to my family, my books, and farms ; and, 
having gained the harbor myself, I shall look on my friends, still buffeting the 
storm, with anxiety indeed, but not with envy. Never did a prisoner, released 
from his chains, feel such relief as I shall on shaking off the shackles of power. 
Nature intended me for the tranquil pursuits of science by rendering them my 
supreme delight ; but the enormities of the times in which 1 have lived have 
forced me to take a part in resisting them, and to commit myself on the boister- 
ous ocean of political passions. I thank God for the opportunity of retirinq 
from them without censure, and carrying with me the most consoling proofs of 
public approbation." 

HOME LIFE AND HOSPITALITY. 

Jefferson's subsequent life at Monticello was very similar to that of Wash- 
ington at Mount Vernon. His mornincrs he devoted to his numerous corre- 
spondence ; from breakfast to dinner he was in the shops and over the farms ; 
from dinner to dark he devoted to recreation and friends ; from dark to early 
bedtime he read. He was particularly interested in young men, advising 
them as to their course of reading. Several came and took up their resi- 
dence in the neighboring town of Charlottesville, that they might avail them- 
selves of his library, which was ever open for their use. 

Toward the latter part of his life, from a series of misfortunes, Mr. Jef 
ferson became deeply involved in debt, so that it was necessary for him to 
sell a large portion of his estate. He was always profuse in his hospitality. 
Whole families came in their coaches with their horses, — fathers and mothers, 
boys and girls, babies and nurses, — and remained three or even six months. 
One family of six persons came from Europe, and m.ade a visit of ten months. 
After a short tour they returned, and remained six months longer. Every 
day brought its contingent of guests. Such hospitality would speedily con- 
sume a larger fortune than Mr. Jefferson possessed. His daughter, Mrs. 
Randolph, was the presiding lady of this immense establishment. The domes- 
tic service required thirty-seven house servants. Mrs. Randolph, upon being 
asked what was the greatest number of guests she had ever entertained any 
one night, replied, " she believed fifty." 

In the winter Mr. Jefferson had some little repose from the crowd of visitors. 
He then enjoyed, in the highest possible degree, all that is endearing in domes- 
tic life. It is impossible to describe the love with which he was cherished by 
his grandchildren. One of them writes, in a letter overflowing with the gush- 
ing of a loving heart, " My Bible came from him, my Shakespeare, my first 
writing-table, my first handsome writing-desk, my first Leghorn hat, my first 
silk dress : what, in short, of all my treasures did no( come from him ? My 
sisters, according to their wants and tastes, were equally thought of equally 
provided for. Our grandfather seemed to read our hearts, to see our individual 



5S3 



LIFE AT MOXflCELLO. 



wishes, to be our good genius, to wave the fairy wand to brighten our young 
lives by his goodness and his gifts." 

Another writes : " I cannot describe the feelings of veneration, admiration, 
and love that existed in my heart toward him. I looked on him as being too 
great and good for my comprehension ; and yet I felt no fear to approach him, 
and be taught by him some of the childish sports I delighted in. Not one of 
us, in our wildest moods, ever placed a foot on one of the garden-beds, for that 
would violate one of his rules ; and yet I never heard him utter a harsh word to 
one of us, or speak in a raised tone of voice, or use a threat." 

In 1812 a perfect reconciliation' took place between Mr. Adams and Mr. 
Jefferson ; the latter very handsomely and magnanimously making the first 
advances. This friendship, which was kept up by a constant interchange of 
letters, continued unabated until their death, — on the same day, and almost at 
the same hour. 




ONE SIXTH OFA SPANISH 

MUl'd I>alltxr:orthc\alm/ 
thereof Cn GoldorSilver 
la ic given in. exchaiig-e a t 

Treasury of VlRCITflA, 

Fursuani fo ACT of 

ASSE'MBXiY 



Os^ 




^J^. 



'.^^ 



^^IRGINIACXJRKENCy^ 



In a letter dated 
March 21, 1819, he writes 
to Dr. Vine Utley, "I 
never go to bed without 
an hour or half an hour's 
previous reading of some- 
thing mojal whereon to 
ruminate in the intervals 
of sleep." The book from 
which he oftenest read was 
a collection which he had 
made by cutting such pas- 
saires from the Evanofe- 
lists as came directly from 
the lips of the Saviour. These he arranged in a blank-book. Jefferson writes to 
a friend : "A more beautiful or precious morsel of ethics I have never seen : it is 
a document in proof that I am a real Cliristian ; that is to say, a disciple of the 
iloctrines of Jesus." This book Mr. Jefferson prepared evidently with great 
care. It is a ve.ry full compend of the teachings of our Saviour. It was entitled 
" The Philosophy of Jesus of Nazareth." He also prepared a second volume, 
which he had bound in morocco, in a handsome octave volume, and which he 
labeled on the back, " Morals of Jesus." It is a little remarkable that Mr. 
Jefferson should have made these collections so secretly that none of the mem- 
bers of his family knew even of the existence of the books until after his death. 

The year 1826 opened gloomily upon Mr. Jefferson. He was very infirm, 
and embarrassed by debts, from which he could see but little hope of extrica- 
tion. The indorsement for a friend had placed upon him an additional twenty 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 5S3 

thousand dollars of debt. He applied to the Legislature for permission to dis 
pose of a large portion of his property by lottery, hoping thus to realize a sum 
sufficient to pay his debts, and to leave enough to give him a competence for 
his few remaining days. Though opposed to all gambling, he argued, in sup- 
port of his petition, that lotteries were not immoral. He wrote to a friend, 
that, if the Legislature would grant him the indulgence he solicited, " I can save 
die house of Monticello and a farm adjoining to end my days in, and bury my 
bones ; if not, I must sell house and all here, and carry my family to Bed* 
ford, where I have not even a log hut to put my head into." 

To Mr. Jefferson's great gratification, the lottery bill finally passed. But, 
all over the country, friends, who appreciated the priceless value of the services 
which he had rendered our nation, began to send to him tokens of their love. 
The mayor of New York, Philip Hone, sent him, collectea from a few friends, 
eight thousand five hundred dollars ; from Philadelphia, five thousand dollars 
were sent ; from Baltimore, three thousand dollars ; and one or two thousand 
more were sent from other sources. These testimonials, like sunshine breaking 
through the clouds, dispelled the gloom which had been so deeply gathering 
around his declining day. Very rapidly he was now sinking. His steps 
became so feeble that with difficulty he could totter ab^ur tne nouse. 

There was something peculiarly gentle and touching in his whole demeanor. 
His good-night kiss, his loving embrace, his childlike simplicity and tenderness, 
often brought tears to the eyes of those whose privilege it was to minister to his 
wants. It was evident that he was conscious that the hour of his departure was 
at hand. He was exceedingly careful to avoid making any trouble, and was far 
more watchful for the comfort of those around him than for his own. His pas- 
sage was very slow down into the vale of death. To one who expressed the 
opinion that he seemed a little better, he replied, — 

" Do not imaoine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude about the 
result. 1 am like an old watch, with a pinion worn out here and a wheel there, 
until it can go no longer." 

On Monday evening, the 3d of July, he awoke about ten o'clock from 
troubled sleep, and, thinking it morning, remarked, " This is the 4th of July." 
Immediately he sank away again into slumber. As the night passed slowly 
away, all saw that he was sinking in death. There was silence in the death- 
chamber. The mysterious separation of the soul from the body was painlessly 
taking place. About noon, July 4th, 1826, the last breath left the body, and 
the great statesman and patriot was no more. 



ANDREW JACKSON, 

THE HERO OE THE WAR OK 1812, AND POPULAR 

PRESIDENT. 

SOME men are remembered for what they 
do ; others for what they ai'e. To the 
latter class belongs Andrew Jackson. 
No American has left a more distinct 
impress of himself on the popular mind ; 
no man of his time is so well known, 
and so vividly remembered. He may 
be loved or hated, but he cannot be for- 
gotten. And this is not because he was 
twice President, nor because he threat 
ened to hantr the South Ca''olina nulli- 
fiers, nor because he made war on the 
United States Bank, nor because he 
introduced the spoils system. It is 
because he was Andrew Jackson. 

No greater contrast could be found 
than that between his administration 
and the preceding one of John Oulncy 
Adams. Adams was the model official. 
His ambition was to make his adminis- 
tration a perfect machine. Under it the people prospered ; the public business 
was admirably done ; the country grew and expanded. But amid all this his- 
personality was almost completely sunk. Few ever thought of John Ouinc) 
Adams. When Jackson became President, this was reversed. Good men were 
turned out and bad men were put in. The public business was sacrificed to 
personal and party advantage. The rights and powers of other branches of 
the government were usurped, and tyranny of the grossest kind came to be a 
matter of course. Amid all this the single figure was Andrew Jackson. He 
was the person whom every one saw, of whom all thought and talked : and it 
Is safe to say that no other President, down to the time of Lmcoln, is so well 
remembered by the comm.on people. 
584 ' 




ANDRE W J A CKSON. 5S5 

Jackson was born in the northwestern corner of South Carolina, in 1767. 
His father, an Irishman of Scotch ciescent, who had only two years before come 
to this country, died before his birth, leaving his mother almost utterly destitute, 
with the care of a large family. Nothing could exceed the trials and hardships 
of his youth. When he was only thirteen, the British ravaged South Carolina, 
killed his oldest brother, Hugh, and captured Andrew and his brother Robert, 
carn/ing them off with others to Camden, forty miles distant from their home. 
The capti\ es were not allo\\ed food or even water on the way ; they were thrown 
into a wretched prison-pen, without beds, medical attendance, or any means of 
dressing their wounds. They were kept on miserable food, and, to crown all, 
smallpox broke out among them. Dying and dead lay on the ground together. 

Their mother came to the rescue of her boys ; she obtained their exchange, 
took them home, and nursed them ; but Robert died in two days, and Mrs. 
Jackson herself fell a victim to the disease. Thus at fourteen years of aoe 
Jackson was left alone in the world, without father, mother, or brother, and 
without a dollar to call his own. 

Before Andrew had fully recovered his strength, he entered a shop to learn 
the trade of a saddler; but he became a wild, reckless, lawless boy. He drank, 
gambled, fought cocks, and was regarded as about the worst character that 
could anywhere be found. .Soon he began to think of a profession, and decided 
to study law. With a very slender purse, and on the back of a fine horse, he 
set out for Salisbury, N. C, a distance of about seventy-five miles, where he 
entered the law office of Mr. McCay. 

At the age of twenty Jackson was a tall young man, standing six feet and 
an inch in his stockings. He was very slender, but remarkably dignified and 
graceful in his manners, an exquisite horseman, and developing, amidst his pro- 
fanity and numerous vices, a vein of rare magnanimity. His temper was fiery 
in the extreme ; but it was said that no man knew better than Andrew Jackson 
when to get angry, and when not. He was fond of all rough adventures, wild 
riding, camping out ; loved a horse passionately ; and, though sagacious and 
prudent, was bold in facing danger. The experience through which he had 
passed in the Revolution had made him a very stanch republican. 

LIFE IN THE WILD.S OF TENNESSEE. 

The whole of that region which we now call Tennessee was then almost an 
unexplored wilderness. It was ranged by bands of Indians, who had been so. 
outraged by vagabonds among the whites that they had become bitterly hostile. 
There was a small settlement of pioneers, five hundred miles west of the summit 
of the Alleghanies, near the present site of Nashville, on the banks of the Cum- 
berland. Andrew Jackson was appointed public prosecutor for the remote dis- 
trict of Nashville. It was an office of litde honor, small emolument, and great 



586 



EMIGRATING TO TENNESSEE. 



peril. Few men could be found to accept it. Early in the spring of 1788 
Jackson joined a party of emigrants, who rendezvoused at Morgantown, the 
last frontier settlement in North Carolina. They were all mounted on horse 
back, with their baggage on pack-horses. In double file, the long cavalcade 
crossed the mountains by an Indian trail, which had widened into a road. 

Late in October, 1788, this long train of emigrants reached Nashville. 
They took with them the exciting news that the new Constitution had been 
accepted by a majority of the States, and that George Washington would 
undoubtedly be elected the first President. It was estimated that then, in this 
outpost of civilization, there were scattered, in log huts clustered along the 




A FAMILIAR KENTUCKY SCENE IN JACKSON'S YOUTH. 

banks of the Cumberland, about five thousand souls. The Indians were so 
active in their hostilities that it was not safe for any one to live far from the 
stockade. Every man took his rifle with him to the field. Children could not 
go out to gather berries unless accompanied by a guard. 

Nashville had its aristocracy. Mrs. Donelson belonged to one of the first 
families. She was the widow of Colonel John Donelson, and lived in a cabin of 
hewn logs, the most commodious dwelling in the place. She had a beautiful, 
mirth-loving daughter, who had married a very uncongenial Kentuckian, Lewis 
Robards, of whom but little that is good can be said. She and her husband 
lived with her widowed mother, and Andrew Jackson was receiv-d into the 



ANDRE IV J A CKSON. 5^7 

family as a boarder. It was an attractive home for him. Of the gay and lively 
Mrs, Robards it is said that she was then the best story-teller, the best dancer, 
the sprightliest companion, the most dashing horsewoman, in the western 
country. 

And now Andrew Jackson commenced vigorously the practice of law. It 
was an important part of his business to collect debts. It required nerve. 
Many desperate men carried pistols and knives. During the first seven years 
of bis residence in those wilds, he traversed the almost pathless forest between 
iVashville and Jonesborough, a distance of two hundred miles, twenty-two times. 
Hostile Indians were constantly on the watch, and a man was liable at any 
moment to be shot down in his own field. Andrew Jackson was just the man 
for this service, — a wild, rough, daring backwoodsman. Daily he was making 
hairbreadth escapes. He seemed to bear a charmed life. Boldly, alone or 
with few companions, he traversed the forests, encountering all perils, and 
triumphing over all. 

Mrs. Robards and her husband lived unhappily together. Before Jackson's 
arrival, he had once, from his jealous disposition, separated from her. Andrew 
Jackson was an exceedingly polite, gallant, fascinating man. Captain Robards 
became jealous of Jackson, and treated Mrs. Robards with great cruelty. Jack- 
son decided, in consequence, to leave the house, and took board in another 
place. Soon after this, Mr. and Mrs. Robards separated. The affair caused 
Andrew Jackson great uneasiness ; for though he knew that the parties had 
separated once before, and though conscious of innocence, he found himself to 
de the unfortunate cause of the present scandal. 

Captain Robards applied to the Legislature of Virginia for a bill of divorce. 
It was granted by an act of the Legislature, provided that the Supre)ne Court 
should adjiidgc that there was cause for such divorce. Robards laid aside this 
act and did nothing for two years. Virginia was far away. The transmission 
of intelligence was very slow. It was announced in Nashville that Robards had 
obtained a divorce. This was universally believed. Influenced by this belief, 
Andrew Jackson and Rachel Robards were married in the fall of 1791. 

Two years after this, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson learned, to their great surprise, 
chat Robards had then only just obtained a divorce. Thus Mr. Jackson had, in 
reality, been married for two years to another man's wife, though neither he nor 
Mrs. Jackson had been guilty of the slightest intentional wrong. To remedy 
the irregularity as far as possible, a new license was obtained, and the marriage 
ceremony was again performed. 

It proved to be a marriage of rare felicity. Probably there never was a 
more affectionate union. However rough Mr. Jackson might have been abroad, 
he was always gentle and tender at home ; and through all the vicissitudes of 
tnelr lives, he treated Mrs. lackson with the most chivalric attentions. He wa* 



588 SENATOR AND JUDGE. 

always very sensitive upon the question of his marriage. No one could breathe 
a word which reflected a suspicion upon the purity of this affair but at the risk 
of a bullet through his brain. 

OLD-FASHIONED POLITICS. 

In January, 1796, the territory of Tennessee then containing nearly eighty 
thousand inhabitants, the people met in convention at Knoxville to frame a 
constitution. Five were sent from each of the eleven counties. Andrew 
Jackson was one of the delegates from Davidson County. They met in a shabby 
building in a grove outside of the city. It was fitted up for the occasion at an 
expense of twelve dollars and sixty-two cents. The members were entitled to 
two dollars and a half a day. They voted to receive but a dollar and a half, 
that the other dollar might go to the payment of secretary, printer, door- 
keeper, etc. A constitution was formed, which was regarded as very demo- 
cratic ; and in June, 1 796, Tennessee became the sixteenth State in the Union. 
The new State was entitled to but one member in the national House of Repre- 
sentatives. Andrew Jackson was chosen that member. Mounting his horse, 
he rode to Philadelphia, where Congress then held its sessions, — a distance 
of eight hundred miles. 

A vacancy chanced soon after to occur in the Senate, and Andrew Jackson 
was chosen United States Senator by the State of Tennessee. John Adams 
was then President ; Thomas Jefferson, Vice-President. Many years after, when 
Mr. Jefferson had retired from the presidential chair, and Andrew Jackson was 
candidate for the presidency, Daniel Webster spent some days at the home of 
the sage of Monticello. He represents Mr. Jefferson as saying : — 

" I feel much alarmed at the prospect of seeing General Jackson President. 
He is one of the most unfit men I know of for such a place. He has very 
little respect for law or constitutions, and is, in fact, merely an able military 
chief His passions"are terrible. When I was president of the Senate he was 
senator ; and he could never speak on account of the rashness of his feelings. 
I have seen him attempt it repeatedly, and as often choke with rage. His 
passions are no doubt cooler now. He has been much tried since I knew 
him ; but he is a dangerous man." 

In 1798 Mr. Jackson returned to Tennessee and resigned his seat in the 

■ Senate. Soon after he was chosen judge of the Supreme Court of that State, 

with a salary of six hundred dollars. This office he held for six years. It 

is said that his decisions, though sometimes ungrammatical, were generally 

right. 

Judge Jackson did not enjoy his seat upon the bench, and renounced the 
dignity in the summer of 1804. About this time he decided to try his fortune 
through trade. He purchased a stock of g^oods in Philadelphia, sent them to 



ANDRE J V J A CKSON. 5S9 

Pittsburgh by wagon, down the Ohio to Louisville in flat-boats, thence by 
wagons or pack-horses to Nashville, where he opened a store. He lived about 
thirteen miles from Nashville, on a tract of land of several thousand acres, 
mostly uncultivated. He used a small block-house for his store, from a narrow 
■^vindow of which he sold goods to the Indians. 

\ In Jackson's early life he fought numerous duels, and took part in brawls 

almost without number. One of the most notorious of his duels was one with 
Charles Dickenson, who was also a lawyer, and a dealer in country produce. 
Jackson challenged him and insisted upon an immediate fight. The meeting 
was appointed at seven o'clock in the morning of Friday, May 30, 1806. Dick- 
enson had a young and beautiful wife and an infant child, and was said to have 
been a very amiable man. They met in a grove. Dickenson got the first fire. 
His ball broke a rib, and glanced, leaving a bad but not dangerous wound. 
Jackson then took deliberate aim. Dickenson, appalled by the certain death 
which awaited him, recoiled a step or two. " Back to the mark, sir ! " shouted 
Jackson's se'cond. The unhappy man took his stand. Again Jackson raised 
his pistol with calm, determined aim, and pulled the trigger. The pistol did 
not go off. He examined it, and found that it had stopped at half-cock. Re- 
adjusting it, he again took cool, careful aim, and fired. Dickenson reeled and 
fell. The ball had passed through his body, just above the hips. Jackson 
and his party retired, leaving the dying man in the hands of his friends. All 
day long he suffered agony, and in the evening died. The next day his frantic 
wife, hurrying to his relief, met a wagon conveying back to Nashville his re- 
mains. Dickenson was a great favorite in Nashville, and his untimely death 
excited profound sympathy. For a time this affair greatly injured General 
Jackson's popularity. If he ever felt any remorse, he never revealed it. 

General Jackson now withdrew from commercial pursuits, which he had not 
found very profitable, and devoted himself to the culture of his plantation. 
His home was a very happy one. Mrs. Jackson was an excellent manager, and 
one of the most cheerful and entertaining of companions. She had a strong 
mind, much intelligence, but very little culture. They had no children, but 
adopted a son of one of Mrs. Jackson's sisters. This boy became the pride, 
the joy, the hope of the general's life. Soon after, he received another little 
nephew into his family, whom he nurtured and educated. It is said that this 
wonderfully irascible man was never even impatient with wife, children, or 
servants. 

A young friend of Jackson, by the name of William Carroll, challenged 
Jesse Benton, a younger brother of Colonel Thomas H. Benton, to a duel. 
Jackson, then forty-six years of age, somewhat reluctantly acted as second to 
Carroll. Both parties were wounded, young Benton quite severely. This 
roused the indig^nation of Colonel Thomas H. Benton, who had conferred some 



590 



AFFRAY WITH THE BENTON S. 



signal favors on Jackson, and he vowed vengeance. Meeting the Benton 
brothers soon after at a Nashville hotel, a bloody affray followed, in which 
Jackson's arm and shoulder were horribly shattered by two balls and a slug 




THE INDIAN S DECLARATION OF WAR. 



from the pistol of Jesse Benton. Jackson's 

wounds were very severe. While he was 

lingering, haggard and wan, upon a bed of suffering, news came that the Indians, 

who had combined under Tecumseh, from Florida to the Lakes, to exterminate 

the white settlers, were committing the most awful ravages. Decisive action 



AXDKEW JACKSOh: 59 r 

became necessary. General Jackson, with his fractured bones just beginning to 
heal, his arm in a sling, and unable to mount his horse without assistance, gave 
his amazing energies to the raising of an army to rendezvous at Fayetteville, 
on the borders of Alabama, on the 4th of October, 181 3. 

FIGHTING THE INDIANS. 

The Creek Indians had established a strong fort on one of the bends of the 
Tallapoosa River, near the centre of Alabama, about fifty miles below Fort 
Strother. With an army of two thousand men, General Jackson traversed the 
pathless wilderness in a march of eleven days. He reached their fort, called 
Tohopeca, or Horseshoe, on the 27th of March, 1814. The bend of the river 
inclosed nearly one hundred acres of tangled forest and wild ravine. Across 
the narrow neck the Indians had constructed a formidable breastwork of logs 
and brush. Here nine hundred warriors, with an ample supply of arms and 
ammunition, were assembled. 

The fort was stormed. The fight was utterly desperate. Not an Indian 
would accept of quarter. When bleeding and dying, they would fight those 
who endeavored to spare their lives. From ten in the morning until dark the 
battle raged. The carnage was awful and revolting. Some threw themselves 
into the river ; but the unerring bullet struck their heads as they swam. Nearly 
every one of the nine hundred warriors was killed. A few probably, in the 
night, swam the river and escaped. This ended the war. The power of the 
Creeks was broken forever. This bold plunge into the wilderness, with its ter- 
rific slaughter, so appalled the savages, that the haggard remnants of the bands 
came to the camp, begging for peace. 

This closing of the Creek war enabled us to concentrate our militia upon 
the British, who were the allies of the Indians. Immediately, on the 31st of 
May, Jackson was appointed major-general in the army of the United States. 
This gave him an income of between six and seven thousand dollars a year, and 
made him, for those times, a rich man. No man of less resolute will than Gen- 
eral Jackson could have conducted this Indian campaign to so successful an 
issue. Through the whole Indian campaign he suffered terribly from the wounds 
and debility occasioned by his senseless feud with Colonel Benton. He was 
pale and haggard and pain-worn, often enduring the extreme of agony. Not 
many men, suffering as he did, would have been out of the sick chamber. 

Immediately upon the fall of Napoleon, in 1814, the British Cabinet decided 
to strike America a crushing blow. It was their plan to take New Orleans, lay 
all our seaport towns in ashes, annihilate our navy, and, by holding the Atlantic, 
the Mississippi, and the Lakes, to imprison us in our forests. The British were 
at Pensacola and Appalachicola, dispensing arms to the Indians in that region, 
and preparing for their grand naval and land expedition to New Orleans. Most 



592 



DEFENSE OF NEW ORLEANS. 



of the hostile Indians, flying from the tremendous blows which General Jackson 
had dealt them, had also taken refuge in Florida. Jackson, far away in the 
wilderness, was left to act almost without instructions. He decided to take 
the responsibility, and assumed the independence of a sovereign. 

The whole South and West were fully aroused to meet and repel the foe 
By the 1st of November General Jackson had in Mobile an army of four thou- 
sand men. He resolved to march upon Pensacola, where the Spaniards were 
sheltering our foes, and, as he expressed it, " rout out the English." He 
advanced upon Pensacola, stormed the town, took possession of every fort, and 
drove the British fleet out to sea. Garrisoning Mobile, he moved his troops to 
New Orleans, a distance of one hundred and seventy miles. General Jackson 
himself was so feeble that he could ride but seventeen miles a day. He reached 
New Orleans 
the 1st of De- 
cember. New 
Orleans at that 
time contained 
about twenty 
thousand in- 
habitants. Ev- 
■ery available 
man in the 
place and coun- 
try near was 
brought into 
service. 

A British 
fleet of sixty 
ships, many of 
them of the first 

class, and which had obtained renown in the naval conflicts of Trafalgar and the 
Nile, was assembled in a spacious bay on the western end of the Island of 
Jamaica. This fleet, which carried a thousand cannon, was manned by nearly 
nine thousand soldiers and marines, and transported a land force of ten thou- 
sand veteran soldiers, fresh from the wars of Europe, and flushed with victory 
over Napoleon. The fleet entered Lake Borgne, a shallow bay opening into 
the Gulf of Mexico near New Orleans, on the loth of December, 1814. There 
were five small cutters in the lake, which were soon overpowered by the im- 
mense force of the foe. Unaware how feeble was General Jackson's force, 
they did not deem it prudent to move upon the city until they had greatly 
increased their numbers This delay probably saved New Orleans. 




1 . , I i.\- GIN, INVENTED IN 1 1 Sl/i. 

-\ macliiue which does the work of more than 1000 men 



ANDRE \ V J A Ch'SON. 593 

At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 23d, General Jackson learned that 
the foe, marching from Lake Borgne, were within a few miles of the city. He 
immediately collected his motley force of young farmers and mechanics, about 
two thousand in number, and marched to meet them. He fell upon them im- 
petuously in a night attack, checked their progress, and drove them back toward 
their landing-place. The British, surprised by the fury of the assault, waited 
for reinforcements, which came up in large numbers during the night. 

THE GRE.A.T VICTORY .A.T NEW ORLEANS. 

Pakenham, on the sSth, pushed his veteran battalions forward on a recon- 
noissance, and to sweep, if possible, over General Jackson's unfinished breast- 
work. It was a brilliant morning. Jackson, an old borrowed telescope in 
his hand, was on the watch. The solid columns of red-coats came on, in 
military array, as beautiful as awe-inspiring. The artillery led, heralding the 
advance with a shower of Congreve rockets, round shot, and shell. The 
muskets of the infantry flashed like mirrors in the light of the morning sun. 
The Britons were in high glee. It was absurd to suppose that a few thousand 
raw militia could resist the veterans who had conquered the armies of 
Napoleon. 

General Jackson had not quite three thousand men behind his breastwork; 
but every one had imbibed the spirit of his chieftain. There were eight thou- 
sand veteran soldiers marching upon them. For a few hours there were the 
tumult, the horror, the carnage of a battle ; and then the British host seemed 
to have melted away. With shattered ranks, leaving their dead behind them, 
a second time they retreated. A third attack, on January ist, had the same 
result. 

On Friday, the 6th, General Jackson became assured that the enemy was 
preparing to attack him on both sides of the river. At half an hour before 
dawn, Sunday morning, January 8, 181 5, a rocket from the hostile lines gave 
the signal for the attack. In two solid columns, the British advanced upon our 
ramparts, which were bristling with infantry and artillery, and behind which 
General Jackson had now collected an army of about four thousand men, all 
inspired with the zeal of their commander. 

Our men were well protected. With bare bosoms, the British marched 

upon the embankment, from which there was poured forth an incessant storm of 

bullets, balls, and shells, which no flesh and blood could stand. It was one of 

the most awful scenes of slaughter which was ever witnessed. Every bullet 

accomplished its mission, spending its force in the bodies of those who were 

insanely driven forward to inevitable death. Two hundred men were cut down 

by one discharge of a thirty-two pounder, loaded to the muzzle with musket 

balls, and poured into the head of a column at the distance of but a few yards 
1?, 



594 



A SPLENDID VIC70RY. 



Reo-iments vanished, a British officer said, " as if the earth had opened and 
swallowed them up." The American line looked like a row of fiery furnaces. 
General Jackson walked slowly along his ranks, cheering his men, and saying: — 

" Stand to your guns ! Don't waste your ammunition ! See that every 
shot tells ! Let us finish the business to-day ! " 

Two hours passed, and the work was done, — effectually done. As the; 
smoke lifted, the whole proud array had disappeared. The ground wa.s so 




»N INDIAN 1U;HT in KI.oRIDA. 



covered with the dying and the dead, that, for a quarter of a mile in front, oii^. 
might walk upon their bodies ; and, far away in the distance, the retreating lines 
of the foe were to be seen. On both sides of the river the enemy was repulsed 

The British had about nine thousand in the engagement, and we but 
about four thousand. Their loss in killed and wounded was two thousand siji 
hundred, while ours was but thirteen. Thus ended the great battle of New 
Orleans. 

In those days intelligence traveled so slowly that it was not until the 4th of 



ANDREW J A CKSON. 



595 



February that tidings of the victory reached Washington. The whole country 
blazed with iUuminations, and rang- with rejoicings. Ten days after this, news. 
of the 1 reaty of CJhent was received, sig;ned before the battle took place. 

Jackson now returned to Nashville, and honors were poured on him with- 
out number. He still retained his command of the southern division of the 
army. The Seminole Indians in Florida were committing outrages upon our 
frontiers. General Jackson gathered an army of over two thousand men, and, 
regardless of treaties, marched into Florida, punished the Indians severely, 
attacked a Spanish post, shot by court-martial a Scotchman, and hung an 

Englishman accused of incitinor 
the Indians to insurrection. His 
energy, and disregard of treaties 
and the forms of law, were de- 
nounced by one party and com- 
mended by another. He was, 
however, sustained by Congress 
and the President ; and, after the 
purchase of Florida from Spain, 
General Jackson was appointed 
governor of the newly acquired 
territory. 

SENATOR AND PRESIDENT. 

For some reason he soon 
became tired of his office, and. 
resigning it, again retired to his 
farm and his humble home in 
Tennessee. His name soon be- 
gan to be brought forward as 
thar of a candidate for the presi- 
dency of the United States. In 
the autumn of 1823 he was elected, by the Tennessee Legislature, United 
States Senator. In the stormy electoral canvass of 1824, which resulted in 
the choice of John Quincy Adams by the House of Representatives, General 
Jackson received a larger number of electoral votes than either of his com- 
petitors. The Democratic party now with great unanimity fixed upon him to 
succeed Mr. Adams. In the campaign of 1828 he was triumphantly elected 
President of the United States. In 1829, just before he assumed the reins of 
government, he met with the most terrible affliction of his life In the death of 
his wife, whom he had loved with devotion which has perhaps never been sur- 
assed. From the shock of her death he never recovered. 




ALEXANDER HAMII.TON 



596 RETIREMENT AND DEATH. 

He ever afterward appeared like a changed man. He became subdued 
in spirit, and, except when his terrible temper had been greatly aroused, seldom 
used profane language. It is said that every night afterward, until his own 
death, he read a prayer from his wife's prayer-book, with her miniature likeness 
before him. 

His administration was one of the .most memorable in the annals of our 
country ; applauded by one party, condemned by the other. No man had more 
bitter enemies or warmer friends. It is, however, undeniable that many of the 
acts of his administration, which were at the time most unsparingly denounced, 
are now generally commended. With all his glaring faults, he was a sincere 
patriot, honestly seeking the good of his country. With the masses of the 
people, Andrew Jackson was the most popular President, with possibly the 
exceptions of Washington and Lincoln, who ever occupied the chair. At the 
expiration of his two terms of office, he retired, in 1837, to the " Hermitage," 
his Tennessee home, resigning his office at Washington to his friend and sup- 
porter, Martin Van Buren. 

His sufferings from sickness during the last years of his life were dreadful, 
but he bore them with the greatest fortitude, never uttering a complaining word. 
On Sunday morning, June 8th, 1845, it was seen that his last hour had come. 
He assembled all his family around him, and, in the most affecting manner, took 
leave of each one. " He then," writes one who was present, " delivered one 
of/ the most impressive lectures on the subject of religion that I have ever 
heard. He spoke for nearly half an hour, and apparently with the power of 
inspiration." Soon after this he suddenly, and without a struggle, ceased to 
breathe. Two days after he was placed in a grave by the side of his wife. He 
had often said, " Heaven will be no heaven to me if I do not meet my wife 
there." 



HENRY CLAY 



( 




"POPULAR HERO, I'ATRIOT, AXU STATESIVIAN 

i^^ ^^^^«,^y^ITH the close of -the great civil war in 1865 disap- 
\w^^'^^^^^ peared from our politics the great problem which for 
\pBr sp^ ,.^\ j^^jj- ^ century had absorbed the attention and 

tasked the abilities of American statesmen. 
Throughout that period there was always one 
overshadowing subject. Whatever other ques- 
tions of domestic policy came up, — tariff, currency, 
internal improvements. State rights, — they were 
always subordinate to the main question, how to 
preserve the Union and slavery together. Some, 
like Calhoun, were ready to abandon the Union to 
save slavery ; others, like Garrison, were ready to 
abandon the Union to destroy slavery ; but between 
! these extremes stood a great body of able and patriotic statesmen, who 

loved and prized the Union above all else, and who, to save it, would make 
any sacrifice, would join in any compromise. At the head of these, for more 
than fifty years, towered the great figure of Henry Clay. 

Not often does a man whose life is spent in purely civil affairs become such 

[a popular hero and idol as did Clay — especially when it is his fate never to 

reach the highest place in the people's gift. " Was there ever," says Parton, 

" a public man, not at the head of a state, so beloved as he ? Who ever heard 

such cheers, so hearty, distinct and ringing, as those which his name evoked ? 

Men shed tears at his defeat, and women went to bed sick from pure sympathy 

[with his disappointment. He could not travel during the last thirty years of his 

[life, but only make procuresses. When he left home the public seized him and 

bore him along over the land, the committee of one State passing him on to the 

committee of another, and the hurrahs of one town dying away as those of the 

next caught his ear." One evidence of his popularity is the great number of 

children named in his honor. An English woman traveling in America during 

I the Presidential canvass of 1844 writes that at least three-fourths of all the boy 

fcbabies born in that year must have been named for Henry Clay. " Even now, 

[more than thirty years after his death," says Carl Schurz, writing in 1S86, "we 

may hear old men, who knew him in the days of his strength, speak of him 

597 



598 HENRY CLAY. 

with an enthusiasm and affection so warm and fresh as to convince us that the 
recollection of having followed his leadership is among the dearest treasures of 
their memory." 

Henry Clay was born in Hanover county, near Richmond, Virginia, in one 
of the darkest days of the Revolution, — the year of i 777 ; the year of the battles 
of Brandywine and Germantown, before yet the glad news of Burgoyne's sur- 
render had come to cheer the hearts of the struggling colonists. His father, a 
poor Baptist preacher, died when Henry was four years old, leaving a wife and 
seven children. There is a story that while his body was lying in the house, a 
party of British cavalry made a raid through the neighborhood, and left on 
Mrs. Clay's table a handful of silver to pay for some property they had taken ; 
but that as soon as they were gone, even in her poverty and grief the spirited 
•wom.an swept the money from the table and threw it in the fireplace. 

Clay's boyhood was that of the typical "self-made man," — a time of hard 
labor, poverty, and small opportunities. "We catch our first glimpse of the 
boy when he sat in a little log school-house, without windows or fioor, one of a 
humming score of shoeless boys, where a good-natured, irritable, drinking 
English schoolmaster taught him to read, write, and cipher as far as Practice. 
This was the only school he ever attended, and that was all he learned at it. His 
widowed mother with her seven young children, her little farm, and two or three 
slaves, could do no more for him. Next, we see him a tall, awkward, slendei 
stripling of thirteen, still barefoot, clad in homespun butternut of his mother i, 
making, tilling her fields, and going to mill with his bag of corn strapped upon 
the family pony." At fourteen, in the year 1791, a place was found for him in a 
Richmond drug store, where he served as errand boy and youngest clerk fot 
one year. 

At this time occurred an event v/hich decided his future. His mother hav- 
ing married again, her husband had influence enough to obtain for the youth a 
clerkship in the office of the Court of Chancery. The young gentlemen 
employed in that ofiice long remembered the entrance among them of their new 
comrade. He was fifteen at the time, but very tall for his age, very slender, 
very awkward, and far from handsome. His good mother had arrayed him in 
a full suit of pepper-and-salt " figinny," an old Virginia fabric of silk and cotton 
His shirt and shirt-collar were stiffly starched, and his coat-tail stood out boldly 
behind him. The dandy clerks of Richmond exchanged glances as this gawky 
figure entered and took his place at a desk to begin work. 

As he grew older, the raw and awkward stripling became a young man 
whose every movement had a winning or commanding grace. Handsome he 
never was ; but his ruddy face and abundant light hair, the grandeur of his fore- 
head, and the speaking intelligence of his countenance, more than atoned fot 
the irregularity of his features. But of all the physical gifts bestowed by nature 



A KJSJNG LAlVyhK. egg 

«pon this favored child, the most unique and admirable was his voice. Them 
was a depth of tone in it, a volume, a compass, a rich and tender harmony, 
which invested all he said with majesty. Parton writes that he heard it last when 
Clay was an old man, past seventy ; and all he said was a few words of acknowl- 
edgment to a group of ladies in the largest hall in Philadelphia. " He spoke 
only in the ordinary tone of conversation ; but his voice filled the room as the 
organ fills a great cathedral, and the ladies stood spellbound as the swelling 
cadences rolled about the vast apartment. We have heard much of W'hitefield's 
piercing voice and Patrick Henry's silvery tones, but we cannot believe thai 
either of those natural orators possessed i^n organ superior to Clay's majestic 
bass. No one who ever heard him speak will find it difficult to believe what 
tradition reports, that he was the peer- 
less star of the Richmond Debating 
Society in 1795." 

But he soon discovered that these 
gifts would not get him a paying practice 
as an attorney in Richmond so quickly 
as he desired ; and as his mother and 
step-father had removed to Kentucky in 
1792, he resolved to follow them to the 
western wilds, and there "grow up with 
the country." He was in his twenty- 
first year when he left Richmond, with 
his license to practice as an attorney, 
but with little else, in his pocket. 

A tall, plain, poor, friendless youth j: 
was young Henry Clay, when he set up 
in Lexington, and announced himself a 
candidate for practice as an attorney. 
He had not even the means of paying 
his board. "I remember," he said, in a speech in 1842, "how comfortable I 
thought I should be if I could make £\oo, Virginia money, per year; and 
with what delight I received my first fifteen-shilling fee. My hopes were 
more than realized. I immediately rushed into a lucrative practice." 

Less than two years after his arrival at Lexington, in April, 1799, Clay had 
achieved a position sufficiently secure to ask for and to obtain the hand of 
Lucretia Hart, the daughter of a man of high character and prominent standing 
in tne State. She was a very estimable woman, and a most devoted wife to him. 
his prosperity increased rapidly ; so that soon he was able to purchase Ash- 
land, an estate of some six hundred acres, near Lexington, which afterward 
became famous as Henry Clay's home. 




SAM HOUSTON. 



6oo 



HENRY CLAY. 



During the first thirteen years of Henn,^ Clay's active life as a politician, he 
appears only as the eloquent champion of the policy of Mr. Jefferson, whom he 
esteemed the first and best of living men. After defending him on the stump 
and aiding him in the Kentucky Legislature, he was sent in 1806, when scarcely 
thirty, to fill for one term a seat in the Senate of the United States, made vacant 

by the resignation of one 
of the Kentucky Senators. 
Returning home at the end 
of the session, he re-entered 
the Kentucky Legislature. 
In support of President Jef- 
ferson's policy of non-inter- 
course with the warring 
nations of Europe, who were 
preying upon American com- 
merce, Mr. Clay proposed 
that members of the Legis- 
lature should bind them- 
selves to wear nothing that 
was not of American manu- 
facture. A Federalist mem- 
ber, ignorant of the fact that 
the refusal of the people to 
use foreign imports had 
caused the repeal of the 
Stamp Act, and would have 
postponed the Revolution 
but for the accident at 
Lexington, denounced Mr. 
Clay's proposition as the act 
of a demagogue. Clay chal- 
lenged this ill-informed gen- 
PATKKK in.NK\' MAKiN', HIS si'KKLH FKFnRK TH K HOUSE tlemau, auci 3 uuel resuiteu, 
OF BORGEssEs. jn whIch two shots were ex- 

changed, and both antagonists were slightly wounded. Elected again to the 
Senate for an unexpired term, he re-appeared in that body in 1S09, and sat 
during two sessions. 

Mr. Clay's public life proper began in November, iSii, as a member of 
the House of Representatives. He was immediately elected speaker by the 
war party, by the decisive majority of thirty-one. He was then thirty-four years 
of age. 




CLAY AS SPEAKER. 6oi 

It is agreed that to Henry Clay, Speaker of the House of Representatives, 
more than to any other individual, we owe the war of 1812. When the House 
hesitated, it was he who, descending from the chair, spoke so as to re-assure it. 
When President Madison faltered, it was the stimulus of Clay's resistless pres- 
ence that put heart into him again. Clay it was whose clarion notes rang out 
over departing regiments, and kindled within them the martial fire ; and it was 
Clay's speeches which the soldiers loved to read by the camp-fire. When the 
war was going all wrong in the first year. President Madison wished to appoint 
Clay commander-in-chief of the land forces ; but, said Gallatin, " What shall we 
do without him in the House of Representatives ?" 

In 1814, Clay was sent with four other commissioners to Ghent, in Belgium, 
to arrange the terms of a peace with England. A single anecdote will illustrate 
the impression he everywhere produced. An octogenarian British earl, who 
had retired from public life because of his years, but who still cherished a natural 
interest in public men and measures, being struck by the impression made in the 
aristocratic circles of London by the American commissioners, then on their way 
home from Ghent, requested a friend to bring them to see him at his house, to 
which his growing infirmities confined him. The visit was promptly and cheer- 
fully paid, and the obliging friend afterwards inquired of the old lord as to the 
impression the Americans had made upon him. "Ah !" said the veteran, with 
the " light of other days " gleaming from his eyes, "I liked them all, but I liked 
the Kentucky man best." It was so everj'where. 

From 1S15, when he returned from Europe, until 1825, when he became 
Secretary of State under John Ouincy Adams, Clay was Speaker of the House 
of Representatives. He was confessedly the best presiding officer that any 
deliberative body in America has ever known, and none was ever more severely 
tried. The intensity and bitterness of party feeling during the earlier portion 
of his speakership cannot now be realized except by the few who remember those 
days. On the floor of the house, Mr. Clay was often impetuous in discussion, 
and delighted to relieve the tedium of debate, and modify the bitterness of antag- 
onism, by a sportive jest or lively repartee. On one occasion. General Smythe 
of Virginia, who often afflicted the house by the dryness and verbosity of his 
harangues, had paused in the middle of a speech, which seemed likely to endure 
forever, to send to the library for a book from which he wished to note a pas- 
sage. Fi.xlngr his eve on Mr. Clav, he observed the Kentucklan writhing In his 
seat, as it his patience had already been e.xhausted. "You, sir," remarked 
Smythe, addressing him, " speak for the present generation ; but I speak for 
posterity." " Yes," said Clay, " and you seem resolved to speak until the arrival 
of your audience." 

Only once in the course of his long representative career was Clay obliged 
to canvass for his election, and he was never defeated, nor ever tould be, before 



6o2 HENRY CLAY. 

a public that he could personally meet and address. The one searching ordeal 
to which he was subjected, followed the passage of the " Compensation Act" of 
1816, whereby Congress substituted for its per diem rate a fixed salary of 
f 1500 to each member. This act excited great hostility especially in the West, 
then very poor. 

While canvassing the district, Mr. Clay encountered an old hunter, who 
had always before been his warm friend, but was now opposed to his re-election 
on account of the Compensation Bill. " Have you a good rifle, my friend?" 
asked Mr, Clay. "Yes." "Did it ever flash?" "Once only," he replied, 
" What did you do with it, — throw it away ? " " No ; I picked the flint, tried it 
again, and brought down the game." " Have I ever flashed, but upon the Com- 
pensation Bill?" "No!" "Will you throw me away?" "No, no!" ex- 
claimed the hunter with enthusiasm, nearly o\erpowered by his feelings ; "I 
will pick the flint, and try you again ! " He was ever afterward a warm sup- 
porter of Vix. Clay. 

THE FAMOUS " MISSOURI COMPROMISE." 

In March, 1818, a petition for the admission of Missouri into the Union was 
presented in Congress ; and then began that long and bitter struggle over 
slavery, which, after convulsing the country for nearly half a century, was finally 
ended on the banks of the Appomattox, in 1865. " No sooner had the debate 
begun," says Schurz, " than it became clear that the philosophical anti-slavery 
sentiment of the revolutionary period had entirely ceased to have any influence 
upon current thought in the .South. The abolition of the foreign slave trade 
had not, as had been hoped, prepared the way for the abolition of slavery or 
weakened the slave interest in any sense. On the contrary, slavery had been 
immensely strengthened by an economic development making it more profitable 
than it ever had been before. The invention of the cotton gin by Eli Whitney, 
in 1793, had made the culture of cotton a very productive source of wealth. In 
1800 the exportation of cotton from the United States was 19,000,000 pounds, 
valued at $5,700,000. In 1S20 the value of the cotton export was nearly $30,- 
000,000, almost all of it the product of slave labor. The value of slaves may be 
said to have at least trebled in twenty years. The breeding of slaves became a 
profitable industry. Under such circumstances the slaveholders arrived at the 
conclusion that slavery was by no means so wicked and hurtful an institution as 
their revolutionary fathers had thought it to be. The anti-slavery professions 
of the revolutionary time became to them an awkward reminiscence, which they 
would have been glad to wipe from their own and other people's memories 
On the other hand, in the Northern btates there was no such change of feelinsf. 
Slavery was still, in the nature of things, believed to be a wrong and a sore. 
The change of sentiment in the South had not yet produced its reflex in the 
North. The slavery question had not become a subject of difference of opinion 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION- 



003 



and of controversy among the Northern people. As they had abolished slavery 
in their States, so they took it for granted that it ought to disappear, and would 
disappear in time, everywhere else. Slavery had indeed, now and then, asserted 
itself in the discussions of Congress as a distinct interest, but not in such a way 
as to arouse much alarm in the free States. The amendment to the Missouri 
Bill, providing for a restriction with regard to slavery, came therefore in a per- 
fectly natural way from that Northern sentiment which remained still faithful to 
the traditions of the revolutionary period. And it was a great surprise to most 
Northern people that so natural a proposition should be so fiercely resisted on 



I 




TURNPIKE IN THE BLUE GRASS REGluN OF KENTUCKY. 

the part of the South. It was the sudden revelation of a change of feeling in 
the South which the North had not observed in its progress. ' The discussion 
of this Missouri question has betrayed the secret of their souls,' wrote John 
Ouincy Adams. The slaveholders watched with apprehension the steady 
growth of the free States in population, wealth, and power. In 1 790 the popula- 
tion of the two sections had been nearly even. In 1820 there was a difference 
of over 600,000 in favor of the North in a total of less than ten millions. In 
1790 the representation of the two sections in Congress had been about evenly 
balanced. In 1820 the census promised to give the North a preponderance of 



634 HENRY CLAY. 

more than thirty votes in the House of Representatives. As the slaveholders 
had no longer the ultimate extinction, but now the perpetuation, of slavery in 
view, the question of sectional power became one of first importance to them, 
and with it the necessity of having more slave States for the purpose of main 
talning the political equilibrium, at least in the Senate. A struggle for morf 
slave States was to them a struggle for life. This was the true significance o< 
the Missouri question." 

The famous " Missouri Compromise," by which the ominous dispute of 
1820 was at last settled, included the admission of one free State (Maine) and 
one slave State (Missouri) at the same time ; — a precedent which it was vmder- 
stood would be thereafter followed ; and it was enacted that no other slave State 
should be formed out of any of the Louisiana or " Northwest territory" north of 
latitude 2,6° 30', which was the southern boundary line of Missouri. The assent 
of opposing parties to this arrangement was secured largely by the patriotic 
efforts of Clay, who, says Schurz, "did not confine himself to speeches, , . . 
but went from man to man, expostulating, beseeching, persuading, in his most 
winning way. . . . His success added greatly to his reputation and gave new 
strength to his influence." The result, says John Quincy Adams, was " to bring 
into full display the talents and resources and influence of Mr. Clay." He was 
praised as "the great pacificator," — a character which was confirmed by the 
deeds of his later life. 

During his long term in the House of Representatives, Clay had the 
misfortune to incur the hatred of General Jackson, — a hatred which, once 
roused, was implacable. The only ground for Jackson's ill-will was found in 
proper criticisms by Clay of his public acts ; but to Jackson no criticism was 
proper ; and from that time forward hatred of Clay became one of Jackson's 
leading motives, actually determining his course in many of the most important 
acts of his public life. In 1825 it led to an attack which profoundly afiected 
the political history of the time, as well as the career of Henry Clay. 

The presidential election of 1824 gave no one of the candidates a majority 
of the electoral votes. Jackson had 99 votes, Adams 84, Crawford 41, and 
Clay 2,1' Under the Constitution this result made it necessary for the House 
of Representatives to choose the President from among the three candidates 
having the largest number of votes. Clay was Speaker of the House ; and as 
his influence at this time was very great, it was at once perceived that he had it 
practically within his power to decide the choice ; and the friends of both Jack- 
son and Crawford began to pay assiduous court to him. He however promptly 
declared his intention of using his influence to secure the choice of Adams ; 
whereupon the Jackson party, a few days before the election, publicly accused 
him of having sold his influence to Adams under a "corrupt bargain," by which 
Clay was to be given the Secretaryship of State in payment for making Adams 



THE COMPROMISE TARIFF. 60^ 

President. Adams was Clay's natural choice, and it was altogether fitting and 
proper that Clay should take the first place in the cabinet ; but the charge, with 
ingenious malice, was made before the election ; and when the event proved as 
predicted, the confirmation of what seemed a prophecy was almost irresistible, 
ind it had a tremendous and most damaging effect. For years the cry of "bar- 
gain and sale " was never allowed to drop. History has shown that no charge 
was ever more completely unfounded. It appears to have been a deliberately 
concocted slander; yet, in spite of every defense, the injury to Clay's reputa 
tion and subsequent career was very great. 

In 1S29, Jackson succeeded to the Presidency, and for a short season Clay 
returned to private life in his beautiful Kentucky home ; but he was not long to 
remain there; in 1831 he was again elected to the Senate, where he remained 
until 1S42. They were stormy years. In South Carolina the opposition to 
the protective tariff had led to the promulgation of the famous "nullification" 
theory, — the doctrine that any State had the power to declare a law of the 
United States null and void. Jackson, whose anger was thoroughly aroused, 
dealt with the revolt in summary fashion ; threatening that if any resistance to 
the government was attempted, he would instantly have the leaders arrested 
and brought to trial for treason. Nevertheless, to allay the discontent of the 
South, Clay devised his Compromise Tariff of 1833, under which the duties 
were gradually reduced, until they reached a minimum of twenty per cent. In 
1832 he allowed himself, very unwisely, to be a candidate for the presidency, 
Jackson's re-election being a foregone conclusion. In 1836 he declined a nomi- 
nation, and \'an Buren was elected. Then followed the panic of 1837, which 
insured the defeat of the party in power, and the election of the Whig candidate 
dt the following presidential election ; but the popularity of General Jackson 
had convinced the party managers that success demanded a military hero as a 
candidate; and accordingly General Harrison, "the hero of Tippecanoe," was 
elected, after the famous "Log Cabin and Hard Cider campaign" of 1840. 
This slight was deeply mortifying to Clay, who had counted with confidence 
upon being the candidate of the party. " I am the most unfortunate man in 
the history of parties," he truly remarked; "always run by my friends when 
sure to be defeated, and now betrayed for a nomination when I, or any one 
else, would be sure of an election." 

I THE CAMPAIGN OF 1 844. 

In 1844, however, Clay's opportunity came at last. He was so obviously 
the Whig candidate that there was no opposition. The convention met at 
Baltimore in May, and he was nominated by acclamation, with a shout that 
shook the building. Everything appeared to indicate success, and his supporters 
regarded his triumphant election as certain. 



\ 



bob 



HENRY CLAY 



But into the politics of the time had come a new factor — the " Liberty party." 
This had been hitherto considered unimportant; but the proposed annexation 
of Texas, which had become a prominent question, was opposed by many in 
the North who had hitherto voted with the Whig party. Clay was a slaveholder, 
and though he had opposed the extension of slavery, his record was not satis- 
factory to those who disapproved of the annexation of Texas. By letters and 
speeches he endeavored to conciliate them ; but he was between two fires ; he 
did not succeed in securing their adherence, while his efforts to do so lost him 
the support of many with whom annexation was popular. Then, too, his old 
enemv, Jackson, from his seclusion at the " Hermitage," wrote letters reviving 
• — the old " bargain and corrup- 

lion" story of 1S25. By an 
audacious fraud, his opponents 
|)Osed in Pennsylvania as the 
friends of protection, and the cry 
of " Polk, Dallas and the tariff 
of 1842 !" was made to do duty 
against him. As the campaign 
progressed, the more clear- 
sighted among his friends, in 
spite of his immense popularity, 
liegan to feel somewhat less cer- 
tain of the result. But while the 
managers noticed the adverse 
• iirrent, the masses of the Whig 
I arty firmly expected success to 
I lie very last. It seemed impos- 
sible to them that Henry Clay 
could be defeated by James K. 
Polk. Everything depended on 
New York. The returns from 
the interior of the State came in 
slowly. There seemed to be still a possibility that heavy Whig majorities in the 
western counties might overcome the large Democratic vote in the eastern. The 
suspense was painful. People did not go to bed, watching for the mails. When 
at last the decisive news went forth which left no doubt of the result, the Whigs 
broke out in a wail of agony all over the land. " It was," says Nathan Sargent, 
"as if the first-born of every family had been stricken down." The descriptions 
we have of the grief manifested are almost incredible. Tears flowed in abund- 
ance from the eyes of men and women. In the cities and villages the business 
places were almost deserted for a day or two, people gathering together in 







MRS. JAMES MADISON. 



FINANCIAL TROUBLES. 607 

groups to discuss in low tones what had happened. Neither did the \ictorious 
Democrats indulge in the usual demonstrations of triumph. There was a feeling 
as if a great wrong had been done. The Whigs were fairly stunned by their 
defeat. Many despaired of the republic, sincerely believing that the experiment 
of popular government had foiled forever. Almost all agreed that the great 
statesmen of the country would thenceforth always remain excluded from tlu 
presidency, and that the highest office would be the prize only of second-rate 
politicians. 

During the autumn and early part of the winter of 1844-5 Clay remained 
at Ashland, receiving and answering a flood ot letters from all parts of the 
United States, and even from Europe, which conveyed to him expressions of 
condolence and sympathy. Private cares had meanwhile gathered, in addi- 
tion to his public disappointments. He had for some time been laboring 
under great pecuniary embarrassment, owing partly to the drafts which are 
always made upon the purse of a prominent public man, partly to the business 
failure of one of his sons. Aside from other pressing debts, there was a heavy 
mortgage resting on Ashland, and, as an old man of sixty-seven. Clay found 
himself forced to consider whether, in order to satisfy his creditors, it would not 
be necessary to part with his beloved home. Relict came to him suddenly, and 
in an unexpected form. When offering a payment to the bank at Lexington, 
the president informed him that sums cf money had arrived from different parts 
of the country to pay off Henry Clay's debts, and that all the notes and the 
mortgage were canceled. Clay was deeply moved. " Who did this ?" he asked 
the banker. All the answer he received was that the givers were unknown, but 
they were presumably " not his enemies." Clay doubted whether he should 
accept the gift, and consulted some of his friends. They reminded him of the 
many persons of historic renown who had not refused tokens of admiration and 
gratitude from their countrymen ; and added that, as he could not discover the 
unknown givers, he could not return the gift ; and, as the gift appeared in the 
shape of a discharged obligation, he could not force the renewal of the debt 
At last he consented to accept, and thus was Ashland saved to him. 

THE COMPROMISE OF 1S5O. 

The last and greatest public work of Clay's life was the famous Compromise 
of 1850, which, as has often been said, postponed for ten years the great Civil 
War. In 1849 he was unanimously elected United States Senator by the Ken- 
tucky Legislature, in spite of the well-known fact that his views on the slavery 
question were distasteful to a large number of his constituents. The truth is 
that they saw that a storm was gathering, and relied on Clay's wisdom and 
patriotism to meet the emergency. The sentiment against slavery was increas- 
ing. The free States were outstripping the slave States in wealth and popiiia- 



63S 



HENRY CLAY 



tion. It was evident that slavery must have more territory or die. Shut out of 
the Northwest by the Missouri Compromise, it was supposed that a great field 
for its extension had been gained in Texas and the territory acquired from 
Mexico. But now California, a part of this territory which had been counted 
upon for slavery, was populated by a sudden rush of Northern immigration, at- 
tracted by the discovery of gold ; and a State government was organized, with 
a constitution excluding slavery. Thus, instead of adding to the area of slavery, 
the Mexican territory seemed likely to increase the strength of freedom. The 
South was both alarmed and exasperated. Threats of disunion were freely 
made. It was evident that prompt measures must be taken to allay the prevail- 




RESIDENCE OF A SOUTHERN PLANTER. 



ing excitement, if disruption was to be avoided. In such an emergency it was 
natural that all eyes should turn to the "great pacificator," Henry Clay. 

When, at the session of 1849-50, he appeared in the Senate, to assist, if 
possible, in removing the slavery question from politics, Clay was an infirm and 
serious, but not sad, old man of seventy-two. He never lost his cheerfulness 
or faith, but he felt deeply for his distracted country. During that memorable 
session of Congress he spoke seventy times. Often extremely sick and feeble, 
scarcely able, with the assistance of a friend's arm, to climb the steps of the 
Capitol, he was never absent on the days when the Compromise was to be 
debated. On the morning on which he began his great speech, he was accom- 



THE CRISIS OF 1S50. 609 

panied by a clerical friend, to whom he said, on reaching the long flight of steps 
leading to tlie Capitol, "Will you lend me your arm, my friend ? for I find my- 
self quite weak and exhausted this morning." Every few steps he was obliged 
to stop and take breath. " Had you not better defer your speech? " asked the 
clergyman. " My dear friend," said the dying orator, "I consider our country 
in danger ; and if I can be the means, In any measure, of averting that danger, 
my health or life is of little consequence." When he rose to speak, it was but 
too evident that he was unfit for the task he had undertaken. But as he 
kindled with his subject, his cough left him, and his bent form resumed all its 
wonted erectness and majesty. He may, in the prime of his strength, have 
spoken with more energy, but never with so much pathos or grandeur. His 
speech lasted two days ; and though he lived two years longer, he never recov- 
ered from the effects of the effort. The thermometer in the Senate chamber 
marked nearly 100°. Toward the close of the second day, his friends repeat- 
edly proposed an adjournment ; but he would not desist until he had given 
complete utterance to his feelings. He said afterward that he was not sure, if 
he gave way to an adjournment, that he should ever be sble to resume. 

Never was Clay's devotion to the Union displayed in such thrilling and 
pathetic forms as in the course of this long debate. On one occasion allusion 
was made to a South Carolina hot-head, who had publicly proposed to raise the 
flag of disunion. When Clay retorted by saying, that, if Mr. Rhett had really 
meant that proposition, and should follow it up by corresponding acts, he would 
be a traitor, and added, " and I hope he will meet a traitor's fate," thunders of 
applause broke from the crowded galleries. When the chairman succeeded In 
restoring silence, Mr. Clay made that celebrated declaration which was so fre- 
quently quoted in 1861 : "If Kentucky to-morrow shall unfurl the banner of 
resistance unjustly, I vwill never fight under that banner. I owe paramount alle- 
giance to the whole Union, a subordinate one to my own State." Again : "The 
Senator speaks of V'irginia being my country. This Union, sir, is my country ; 
the thirty States are my country ; Kentucky Is my country, and Virginia, no 
more than any State in the Union." And yet again : " There are those who 
think that the Union must be preserved by an exclusive reliance upon love and 
reason. That Is not my opinion. I have some confidence In this instrumentality ; 
but, depend upon it, no human government can exist without the power of 
applying force, and the actual application of it in extreme cases." 

"Who can estimate," says Parton, "the influence of these clear and em- 
phatic utterances ten years after ? The crowded galleries, the numberless 
newspaper reports, the quickly succeeding death of the great orator, all aided 
to give them currency and effect. We shall never know how many wavering 
minds they aided to decide in 1861. Not that Mr. Clay really believed the con- 
flict would occur : he was mercifully permitted to die in the conviction that the 
39 



6io HENRY CLAY. 

Compromise ot 1850 had removed all immediate danger, and greatly lessened 
that of the future. Far indeed was he from foreseeing that the ambition of 
Stephen A. Douglas, a man born in New England, calling himself a disciple of 
Andrew Jackson, would within five years destroy all compromises, and rendei 
all future compromise impossible, by procuring the repeal of the first, — the 
Missouri Compromise of 1821 ? " 

" Whatever Clay's weaknesses of character and errors in statesmanship 
may have been," says Schurz, "almost everything he said or did was illumined 
by a grand conception of the destinies of his country, a glowing national spirit, 
a lofty patriotism. Whether he thundered against British tyranny on the seas, 
or urged the recognition of the South American sister republics, or attacked 
the high-handed conduct of the military chieftain in the Florida war, or advo- 
cated protection and internal improvements, or assailed the one-man power and 
spoils politics in the person of Andrew Jackson, or entreated for compromise 
and conciliation regarding the tariff or slavery ; whether what he advocated was 
wise or unwise, right or wrong, — there was always ringing through his words a 
fervid plea for his country, a zealous appeal in behalf of the honor and the future 
greatness and glory of the Republic, or an anxious warning lest the Union, and 
with it the greatness and glory of the American people, be put in jeopardy. Il 
was a just judgment which he pronounced upon himself when he wrote: "If 
any one desires to know the leading and paramount object of my public life, 
the preservation of the Union will furnish him the key." 




DANIEL WEBSTER, 

THE DEKENDER OF NATIONAL UNION. 

THE hall of the United States Senate, on January 26, 1 830, 
occurred one of the most memorable scenes in the annals 
of Cono-ress. It was then that Daniel Webster made his 
famous " Reply to Hayne," — that renowned speech which 
has been declared the greatest oration ever made in Con- 
gress, and which, in its far-reaching effect upon the public 
mind, did so much to shape the future destiny of the 
American Union. That speech v/as Webster's crowning 
work, and the event of his life by which he will be best 
known to posterity. 

Nothing in our history is more striking than the con- 
trast between the Union of the dme of Washington and the Union of the time 
of Lincoln. It was not merely that in the intervening seventy-two years the 
republic had grown great and powerful ; it was that the popular sentiment 
toward die Union was transformed. The old feeling of distrust and jealousy 
had given place to a passionate attachment. It was as though a puny, sickly, 
feeble child, not expected by its parents even to live, had come to be their 
strong defense and support, their joy and pride. A weak league of States had 
become a strong nadon ; and when in 1S61 it was attacked, millions of men 
were ready to fight for its defense. What brought about this great change ? 
What was it that stirred this larger patriotism, that gave shape and purpose to 
the growing feeling of nadonal pride and unity ? It was in a great degree 
the work of Daniel Webster. It was he who maintained and advocated the 
theory that the Federal Consdtution created, not a league, but a nation, — that 
it welded the people into organic union, supreme and perpetual ; who set forth 
in splendid completeness the picture of a great nation, inseparably united, com- 
manding the first allegiance and loyalty of every citizen ; and who so fostered 
and strengthened the sentiment of union that when the great struggle came, it 
had gfrown too strong to be overthrown. 

Daniel Webster was born in the year 1782, — soon after the surrender of 
Cornwallis, but before the treaty of peace had formally ended the War of the 

611 



6i3 DANIEL WEBSTER. 

Revolution. His father was one of tlie brave men who fought at Lexington ; 
and like most of the patriots of that day, had a large family to support and 
educate on his rocky New Hampshire farm. Daniel was the youngest of ten 
children, and, like the rest, was early put to work. He was intensely fond of 
books. When at work in his father's saw-mill, he would set a log, and while 
the saw was eoing- throuofh it, would devour a book. There was a small circu- 
lating library in the village, and Daniel read everything it contained, committing 
most of the contents to memory. His talents as a reader were known in the 
neighborhood, and the passing teamsters, while they watered their horses, de- 
lighted to get "Webster's boy," with his delicate look and great dark eyes, to 
come out beneath the shade of the trees and read the Bible to them with all the 
force of his childish eloquence. 

Daniel's abilities as a boy in many ways gave promise of his future great- 
ness. His powers of memory were, all through life, most extraordinary. His 
teacher used to tell of one of the facts of his schoolboy days. " On a Satur- 
day, I remember," says the ancient pedagogue, " I held up a handsome new 
jack-knife to the scholars, and said that the boy who would commit to memory 
the greatest number of verses in the Bible by Monday morning should have it. 
Many of the boys did well ; but when it came to Daniel's turn to recite, I found 
that he had committed so much, that, after hearing him repeat some sixty or 
seventy verses, I was obliged to give up, — he telling me that there were several 
chapters yet to recite, that he had learned. Daniel got that jack-knife." 

The story of the sacrifices made by the whole' family in order that the boys 
might be educated, bears touching witness to the family affection and unity. 
When fourteen, Daniel was sent to Phillips Exeter Academy, and in the follow- 
ing year he entered Dartmouth College. By teaching school in vacation he 
made his way through college, and also managed to aid his brother Ezekiel. 
He was the foremost man in his class, maintaining this position throughout the 
whole course. In 1801 he began to study law in Salisbury, New Hampshire. In 
1804, to perfect his legal knowledge, he went to Boston, and was admitted to 
the bar in 1805. 

Webster's magnificent appearance. 

No sketch of Daniel Webster is complete or adequate which omits to 
describe his extraordinary personal appearance and presence. " We can but 
half understand his eloquence and its influence," says Mr. Lodge, "if we do not 
carefully study his physical attributes, his temperam-'int and disposition. In face, 
form, and voice, nature did her utmost for Daniel Webster. He seemed to every 
one to be a giant ; that, at least, is the word we most commonly find applied to 
him ; and there is no better proof of his wonderful impressiveness than this fact, 
for he was not a man of extraordinary stature. He was five feet ten inches in 
height, and, in health, weighed a little less than two hundred pounds. These 



HIS PERSONAL MAGNETISM. 



613 



are the proportions of a large man, but there is nothing remarkable about them. 
We must look elsewhere than to mere size to discover why men spoke of 
Webster as a giant. He had a swarthy complexion and straight black hair. 
His head was very large ; at the same time it was of noble shape, with a broad 
and lofty brow, and his features were finely cut and full of massive strength. 
His eyes were extraordinary. They were very large and deep-set, and, when 
he began to rouse himself to action, shone with the deep light of a forge-fire, 
getting ever more glowing as excitement rose. His voice was in harmony with 




FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON, WHICH WEBSTER CALLED "THE CRADLE OF LIBERTY." 



his appearance. It was low and musical in conversation ; in debate it was high 
.but full, ringing out in moments of excitement like a clarion, and then sinking 
to deep notes with the solemn richness of organ-tones, while the words were 
accompanied by a manner in which grace and dignity mingled in complete 
accord." 

That indefinable quality which we call personal magnetism, the power of 
Impressing by one's personality every human being who comes near, was at its 
height in Mr. Webster. He never, for instance, punished his children, but when 
they did wrong he would send for them and look at them silently. The look. 



6i4 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 



whether of sorrow or anger, was punishment and rebuke enough. It was the 
same with other children. 

Daniel Webster had surpassing abilities in thn^e great spheres, — those of 
the lawyer, the orator, and the statesman. As a lawyer his most famous argu- 
ments are those in the Dartmouth College case, the White murder case, and the 
"steamboat case," as it was called. A part of his speech in the murder case is 
still printed in school readers, and 'declaimed on examination clays. The Dart- 
mouth College case is one of the most famous in American litigation. While very 
intricate, .it may be generally described as a suit to annul the charter of the col- 
lege on the ground that it had failed to carry out the purposes expressed in the 
will of its founder. After trial in the .State courts, it was appealed to the United 
States Supreme Court, before which Mr. Webster made his great argument in 
1818. Mr. C. A. Goodrich, who was present, has given the following description 
of the scene : — 

The Supreme Court of the United States held its session, that winter, in a mean apartment of 
moderate size — the Capitol not having been built after its destruction in 1814. The audience, when 
the case came on, was therefore small, consisting chiefly of legal men, the ilite of the profession 
throughout the country. Mr. Webster entered upon his argument in the calm tone of easy and digni- 
fied conversation. His matter was so completely at his command that he scarcely looked at his 
brief, but went on for more than four hours with a statement so luminous and a chain of reasoning 
so easy to be understood, and yet approaching so nearly to absolute demonstration, that he seemed 
to carry with him every man in his audience, without the slightest effort or weariness on either side. 
It was hardly eloquence, in the strict sense of the term ; it was pure reason. Now and then, for a 
sentence or two, his eye flashed and his voice swelled into a bolder note, as he uttered some 
emphatic thought ; but he instantly fell back into the tone of earnest conversation, which ran 
throughout the great body of his speech. 

A single circumstance will show the clearness and absorbing power of his argument. I had 
observed that Judge Story, at the opening of the case, had prepared himself, pen in hand, as if to 
take copious minutes. Hour after hour I saw him fixed in the same attitude, but, so far as I could 
perceive, with not a note on his pai)er. The argument closed, and I could not discover that he 
had taken a single note. Others around me remarked the same thing ; and it was among the »n 
dits of Washington, that a friend spoke to him of the fact with surprise, when the judge remarked : 
"Everything was so clear, and so easy to remember, that not a note seemed necessary, and, in 
fact, I thought little or nothing about my notes." 

The argument ended. Mr. Webster stood for some moments silent before the court, while 
every eye was fixed intently upon him At length, addressing the Chief Justice, Marshall, he 
proceeded thus : 

" This, sir, is my case ! It is the case, not merely of that humble institution, it is the case 
of every college in our land. It is more. It is the case of every eleemosynary institution through- 
out our country ; of all those great charities founded by the piety of our ancestors to alleviate 
human misery, and scatter blessings along the pathway of life. It is more ! It is, in some sense, 
the case of every man among us who has property of which he may be stripped ; for the question is 
simply this : Shall our State Legislatures be allowed to take that which is not their own, to turn it 
from its original use, and apply it to such ends and purposes as they, in their discretion, shall see fit. 

" Sir, you may destroy this little institution ; it is weak ; it is in your hands ! I know it is 
one of the lesser lights in the literary horizon of our country. You may put it out. But if you do 



THh UAKTAIUUTH COLLEGE ARGUMENT. 615 

so, you must carry through your work ! You must extinguish, one after another, all thbse great 
lights of science which, for more than a century, have thrown their radiance over our land. 

" It is, sir, as I have said, a small college. And yet, there are those who love it " 

Here the feelings which he had thus far succeeded in keeping down broke forth. His lips 
quivered ; his firm cheeks trembled with emotion ; his eyes were filled with tears ; his voice choked, 
and he seemed struggling to the utmost simply to gain that mastery over himself which might save 
him from an unmanly burst of feeling. I will not attempt to give you the few broken words of 
-enderness in which he went on to speak of his attachment to the college. The whole seemed to 
be mingled throughout with the recollections of father, mother, brother, and all the trials and 
privations through which he had made his way into life. Every one saw that it was wholly unpre- 
meditated, a pressure on his heart which sought relief in words and tears. 

The court-room, during these two or three minutes, presented an extraordinary spectacle. 
Chief Justice Marshall, with his tall, gaunt figure bent over as if to catch the slightest whisper, the 
deep furrows of liis cheeks expanded with emotion, and eyes suffused with tears ; Mr. Justice Wash- 
ington at his side, with his small and emaciated frame, and countenance more like marble than I 
ever saw on any human being, leaning forward with an eager, troubled look; and the remainder of 
the court, at the two extremities, pressing, as it were, toward a single point, while the audience 
below were wrapping themselves round in closer folds beneath the bench to catch each look, and 
every movement of the speaker's face. If a painter could give us the scene on canvas — those forms 
and countenances, and Daniel Webster as he then stood in the midst, it would be one of the most 
touching pictures in the history of eloquence. One thing it taught me, that the pathetic depends 
not merely on the words uttered, but still more on the estimate we put upon him who utters them. 
There was not one among the strong-minded men of that assembly who could think it unmanly to 
weep, when he saw standing before him the man who had made such an argument, melted into the 
tenderness of a child. 

Mr. Webster had now recovered his composure, and fixing his eye on the Chief Justice, said, 
in that deep tone with which he sometimes thrilled the heart of an audience : — 

"Sir, I know not how others may feel " (glancing at the opponents of the college before 
him), " but, for myself, when I see my Alma Mater surrounded, like Caesar in the Senate-house, by 
those who are reiterating stab upon stab, I would not, for this right hand, have her turn to me and 
say, 'Et til quoque, mi fill ! And thou too, my son !' " 

He sat down. There was a death-like stillness throughout the room for some moments ; 
every one seemed to be slowly recovering himself, and coming gradually back to his ordinary range 
of thought and feeling. 

As an orator, Mr. Webster's most famous speeches are the Plymouth Rock 
address, in 1820, on the two hundredth anniversary of the Landing of the Pil 
grims ; the Bunker Hill Monument address, in 1825 ; and his speeches in the 
Senate on January 30th, 1830, in reply to Hayne, and March 7th, 1850, on 
Clay's Compromise Bill. 

Of the Plymouth Rock oration a glimpse is given in a letter written at the 
time to a friend by Mr. George Ticknor, He writes : — 

"Friday Evening. I have run away from a great levee there is down-stairs, thronging in 
admiration round Mr. Webster, to tell you a little word about his oration. Yet I do not dare to 
trust myself about it, and I warn you beforehand that I have not the least confidence in my own 
opinion. His manner carried me away completely ; not, I think, that I could have been so carried 
away if it had been a poor oration, for of that, I apprehend, there can be no fear. It must have 



6i6 DANIEL WEBSTER. 

been a great, a very great pertbrmance ; but whether it was so absohitely unrivaled as I imagined 
when I was under the immediate influence of his presence, of his tones, of his looks, I cannot be 
sure till I have read it, for it seems to me incredible. 

" I was never so excited by public speaking before in my life. Three or four times I though! 
my temples would burst with the gush of blood ; for, after all, you must know that I am aware it is 
no connected and compacted whole, but a collection of wonderful fragments of burning eloquence, 
to which his whole manner gave tenfold force. When I came out I was almost afraid to come neai 
to him. It seemed to me that he was like the mount that might not be touched, and that burned 
with fire. I was beside myself, and am so still. 

" The passage at the end, where, spreading his arms as if to embrace them, he welcomed 
future generations to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed, was spoken with the most attrac- 
tive sweetness, and that peculiar smile which in him was always so charming. The effect of the 
whole was very great. As soon as he got home to our lodgings, all the principal people then in 
Plymouth crowded about him. He was full of animation, and radiant with happiness. Bat there 
was something about him very grand and imposing at the same time. I never saw him at any time 
when he seemed to me to be more conscious of his own powers, or to have a more true and natural 
enjoyment from their possession." 

THE MEMORABLE " REPLY TO HAYNE," 

Beyond all doubt, Mr. Webster's greatest and most renowned oratorical 
effort was his speech in reply to Robert Y. Hayne of South Carolina, delivered 
in the Senate on the 26th of January, 1830. "There was," says Edward 
Everett, "a very great excitement in Washington, growing out of the contro 
versies of the day, and the action of the South ; and party spirit ran uncom- 
monly high. There seemed to be a preconcerted action on the part of the 
Southern members to break down the Northern men, and to destroy their force 
and influence by a premeditated onslaught. 

" Mr. Hayne's speech was an eloquent one, as all know who ever read it, 
He was considered the foremost Southerner in debate, except Calhoun, who was 
Vice-President and could not enter the arena. Mr. Hayne was the champion 
of the Southern side. Those who heard his speech felt much alarm, for two 
reasons ; first on account of its eloquence and power, and second, because of 
its many personalities. It was thought by many who heard it, and by some of 
Mr. Webster's personal friends, that it was impossible for him to answer the 
speech. 

"I shared a little myself in that fear and apprehension," said Mr. Everett 
" I knew from what I heard concerning General Hayne's speech that it was a 
very masterly effort, and delivered with a great deal of power and with an air 
of triumph. I was engaged on that day in a committee of which I was chair 
man, and could not be present in the Senate. But immediately after the 
adjournment, I hastened to Mr. Webster's house, with, I admit, some little 
trepidation, not knowing how I should find him. But I was quite re-assured in 
a moment after seeing Mr. Webster, and observing his entire calmness. He 
seemed to be as much at his ease and as unmoved as I ever saw him. Indeed 



b 



THE REPLY TO HAYNE. 617 

at first I was a little afraid from this that he was not quite aware of the magni- 
tude of the contest. I said at once : — 

"'Mr. Hayne has made a speech?' 

" ' Yes, he has made a speech.* 

" ' You reply in the morning ?' 

*' ' Yes,' said Mr. Webster, 'I do not propose to let the case go by default 
and without saying a word.' 

" ' Did you take notes, Mr. Webster, of Mr. Hayne's speech.' 

" Mr. Webster took from his vest pocket a piece of paper about as big as 
the palm of his hand, and replied, ' I have it all : that is his speech.' 

"I immediately arose," said Mr. Everett, "and remarked to him that I 
tvould not disturb him longer ; Mr. Webster desired me not to hasten, as he had 
no desire to be alone ; but I left." 

"On the morning of the memorable day," writes Mr. Lodge, "the Senate 
chamber was packed by an eager and excited crowd. Every seat on the floor 
and in the galleries was occupied, and all the available standing-room was filled. 
The protracted debate, conducted with so much ability on both sides, had ex- 
cited the attention of the whole country, and had given time for the arrival of 
hundreds of interested spectators from all parts of the Union, and especially 
from New England. 

" In the midst of the hush of expectation, in that dead silence which is so 
peculiarly oppressive because it is possible only when many human beings are 
gathered together, Mr. Webster arose. His personal grandeur and his majes- 
tic calm thrilled all who looked upon him. With perfect quietness, unaffected 
apparently by the atmosphere of intense feeling about him, he said, in a low, 
even tone : — 

" ' Mr. President: When the mariner has been tossed for many days in thick weather and on 
an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of 
the sun, to take his latitude and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from his true 
course. Let us imitate this prudence; and, before we float farther on the waves of this debate, 
refer to the point from which we departed, that we may, at least, be able to conjecture where we 
are now, I ask for the reading of the resolution before the Senate.' 

"This opening sentence was a piece of consummate art. The simple and 
appropriate image, the low voice, the calm manner, relieved the strained excite- 
ment of the audience, which might have ended by disconcerting the speaker if 
it had been maintained. Every one was now at his ease ; and when the monoto- 
nous reading of the resolution ceased, Mr. Webster was master of the situation, 
and had his listeners in complete control." 

With breathless attention they followed him as he proceeded. The strong, 
masculine sentences, the sarcasm, the pathos, the reasoning, the burning appeals 
to love of State and country, flowed on unbroken. As his feelings warmed the 



6iS 



DANIEL. WEBSTER. 



fire came into his eyes ; there was a glow in his swarthy cheek ; his strong right 
arm seemed to sweep away resistlessly the whole phalanx of his opponents, and 
the deep and melodious cadences of his voice sounded like harmonious organ 
tones as they filled the chamber with their music. Who that ever read or heard 
it can forget the closing passage of that glorious speech ? 

" When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not sec 
him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on States dis- 
severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal 
blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance behold rather the glorious ensign of the republic, 

now known and honored throughout the 
earth, still full high advanced, its arms 
and trophies streaming in their original 
lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, not 
a single star obscured ; bearing for its 
motto no such miserable interrogatory as, 
ll7iaf is all this worth ? or those othei 
words of delusion and folly, Liberty first^, 
and Union afterwards ; but everywhere, 
spread all over in characters of living 
light, blazing on all its ample folds, as 
they float over the sea and over the land, 
that other sentiment, dear to every true 
American heart, — Liberty and Union, 

NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPAR- 
ABI E ! " 

As the last words died away 
into silence, those who had lis- 
tened looked wonderingly at each 
other, dimly conscious that they 
had heard one of the grand 
speeches which are landmarks in- 
the history of eloquence ; and the 
men of the North and of New 
England went forth full of the 
pride of victory, for their champion had triumphed, and no assurance was 
needed to prove to the world that this time no answer could be made. 

During all the years of Jackson's and \"an Buren's administrations, Mr, 
Webster continued in the United States Senate. He opposed the innovations 
and usurpations of Jackson's reign ; he was dignified, prudent, conservative. 
"Amid the flighty politics of the time," says Parton, "there seemed one solid 
thing in America as long as he sat in the arm-chair of the Senate Chamber." 

Upon Harrison's inauguration in 1841, Mr. Webster became Secretary of 
State, which office he held under President Tyler until 1843. During this time 




CHIEF jrSTICE JOHN JAY. 



THE SEVENTH OF MARCH SPEECH. bxc, 

ht negotiated the famous treaty with Lord Ashburton, which setded a dispute 
of long standing with England over the Maine boundary, hi 1843 ^""^ resigned 
this position. He supported Clay for the Presidency in 1S44, opposing the 
annexation of Texas, because it would involve the extension of slavery. In 
1845 he was again elected to the Senate, and opposed the prosecution of the 
Mexican war, the real purpose of which was the increase of slave territory. 

THE CRISIS OF 1850. 

In 1S50 the contest over slavery had become so fierce that it threatened to 
break up the Union. The advocates of slavery were bent upon its extension, 
while its opponents wished to restrict it to the States where it already existed. 
Webster was always opposed to slavery ; but in the crisis of 1850, he thought 
that all other measures should be subordinate to the preservation of the Union. 
No one had done more than he to strengthen and perpetuate the Union ; but 
it was his conviction that it would be destroyed if the struggle over slavery 
came to an issue at that time. Every year the attachment of the people to the 
Union was growing stronger. Every year the free States were gaining upon 
the slave States in strength, population, and power. If the contest over slavery 
could be averted, or even postponed, slavery would decline and ultimately die 
out, and the Union be preserved ; while if the conflict were precipitated, the 
Union would be destroyed, and slavery perpetuated. Accordingly, he gave his 
support to the Compromise measures ; and on the 7th of March, 1850, he made 
in advocacy of them the most famous speech of his life, before a great audience, 
hushed to death-like stillness, in the Senate chamber. 

" Mr. President," Mr. Webster began, " I wish to speak to-day, not as a Massachusetts man, 
nor as a Northern man, but as an American, and a member of the Senate of the United States, — a 
body to which the country looks, with confidence, for wise, moderate, patriotic, and healing 
counsels. It is not to be denied that we live in the midst of strong agitations, and are surrounded 
by very considerable dangers to our institutions of government. The imprisoned winds are let 
loose. The East, the West, the North, and the stormy South, all combine to throw the whole 
ocean into commotion, to toss its billows to the skies, and disclose its profoundest depths. ... I 
have a psrt to act, not for my own security or safety, for I am looking out for no fragment upon 
svhich to float away from the wreck, if wreck there must be, but for the good of the whole, and the 
preservation of the whole ; and there is that which will keep me to my duty during this struggle, 
whether the sun and the stars shall ap[)ear, or shall not appear, for many days. I speak to-day for 
the preservation of the Union. ' Hear me for my cause.' I speak to-day out of a solicitous and 
anxious heart, for the restoration to the country of that quiet and that harmony which make the 
blessings of this Union so rich and so dear to us all." 

The Compromise measures before the Senate included two provisions which 
were particularly odious to the North, — one for the extension of slavery to the 
territory purchased '"rom Mexico ; the other for a more stringent law for the 
capture and return of fugitive slaves. Webster in his speech advocated the 



620 



DANIEL WEBSTER. 



acceptance of these provisions as part of the Compromise, and in doing so gave 
great offence to many supporters in the North, who had looked upon him as a 
steady opponent of slavery, who would never yield an inch to its exactions. 
In his speech Webster maintained that the constitution recognized the right of 
the master to the return of his escaped slave, and that its obligations could not 
be evaded without a violation of good faith. As to the territories, he argued 
that slavery was already by nature excluded from New Mexico, which was not 
adapted to the products of slave labor, and that to " re-enact a law of God,' 
by formally excluding it, was a needless irritation to the South. Although he 

supported his position with great 
force, his speech was nevertheless 
regarded by anti-slavery men in 
the North as a surrender to the 
slave power, made v/ith a view to 
securing support in the South as 
a candidate for the Presidency. 
He was denounced as recreant 
to the cause of freedom, and ac- 
cused of having sold himself to 
the South. These charges did 
much to embitter the last years 
of his life ; but he firmly adhered 
to his course, supported the Com- 
promise measure in Congress, 
and made a number of speeches 
in Its favor throughout the North. 
After his death there was a sfrad- 
ual reaction, and many who had 
condemned him came to admit 
that his course, whether wise or 
not, was at least guided by pure 
and patriotic motives. 
In July, 1S50, while the great Compromise was still before Congress, 
Webster was appointed by President Fillmore Secretary of State, which office 
he held until his death. His summer home was an immense farm at Marshfield, 
near Plymouth, Massachusetts, and for many years he had taken the keenest in 
terest in all the operations of the farm. A friend who was often with him tells 
how he enjoyed his cattle, and how, on one occasion, after each animal was 
secured in his place, Mr. Webster amused himself by feeding them with ears 
of corn from an unhusked pile lying on the barn floor. As his son was trying 
to keep warm by playing with the dog, he said : — 




LUCRETIA MOTT. 
The advance ageRt of emancipation. 
' (179.3-1880.) 



HIS LAST HOURS. 621 

" You do not seem, my son, to take much interest in this ; but, for my part " 
(and here he broke an ear and fed the pieces to the oxen on his right and left 
and watched them as they crunched it), " I Hke it. I would rather be here than 
in he Senate," adding, with a smile which showed all his white teeth, " I think 
it better company." 

In May, 1852, while driving near his Marshfield home, Mr. Webster was 
thrown from the carriage and seriously injured. Although he recovered suffi- 
ciently to visit Washington afterward, he never regained his health, and a few 
months later, in the autumn of 1852, he died at Marshfield. His death and 
burial were scenes of sublime pathos. In his last hours he manifested a strong 
desire to be conscious of the actual approach of death, and his last words were 
"■" I still live." An immense concourse gathered at his funeral. It was a clear, 
beautiful autumn day, and his body was brought from the house and placed on 
the lawn, under the blue sky, where for several hours a stream of people of 
every class moved past, to gaze for the last time upon his majestic features. 
One, a plain farmer, was heard to say in a low voice, as he turned away, 
" Daniel Webster, without you the world will seem lonesome." 

The spot where Webster reposes is upon elevated land, and overlooks 
the sea, his mammoth farm, the First Parish Church, and most of the town of 
Marshfield, wide spreading marshes, forests remote and near, the tranquil river, 
and glistening brooks. On a pleasant day the sands of Cape Cod can be 
descried from it, thirty miles directly to the east, where the Pilgrims first moored 
their ship. The spot is perfectly retired and quiet, nothing being usually heard 
but the solemn dirge of the ocean and the answering sighs of the winds. It is 
the spot of all others for his resting-place. 

All in a temperate air, a golden light. 

Rich with October, sad with afternoon, 
Fitly his frame was laid, with rustic rite, 

To rest amid the ripened harvest boon. 
He loved the ocean's mighty murmur deep, 
And this shall lull him through his dreamless sleep. 




i.'t-i-> L.A i i-O .i i Ci i . -i t tj V. o j 



i.'i^) 1 i,i_-ivji_'.-i 



JOHN C. CALHOUN, 

THE) GREAT ADVOCATE OE STATES RIGHTS. 





FEW years ago an elderly man, who had fought in the 
Union army through the great civil v%-ar of 1861, was listen- 
ing to some schoolboys rehearsing their history lesson. 
"When was the first blow struck at the Union?" 
asked one. 
jfy^^^B^Ji^^ "^" April 13th, 1S61, when Fort Sumter was fired 

'^^ ^^^^P^ upon by batteries in Charleston harbor," was the answer. 
L ■^ •' " No ! " thundered the old soldier, breaking in ; " the 

.."^ first blow at the Union was struck in 1832, by John C. Cal- 

''y houn; and if Andrew Jackson had been President in i860, instead 

/of James Buchanan, there Avould have been no gun fired on Fort 
Sumter, I can tell you ! Don't forget ^/laf bit of history, boys !" 

John Caldwell Calhoun is an absolutely unique figure in American 
history. His political life was devoted to the establishment and perpetuation of 
slavery. He believed that institution beneficial alike to white and black, to North 
and South, — in a word, that slavery was morally and politically right, and that the 
weltare of the countr}^ was bound up with its continuance. That he was sincere 
in this conviction cannot be doubted. He was one of the most honest and up 
right of men ; there was no concealment or pretence in him. As a consequence 
of his purity and ability, his innuence was immense. His own State accepted 



JOHN C. CALHOUN. 



623 



his doctrines and followed his lead with unquestioning faith ; and it is ".lot too 
much to say that the great conflict over slavery and disunion was in great 
measure due to. the doctrines which for a quarter of a century he unceasingly 
advocated, 

Calhoun was born in Abbeville, South Carolina, in 1782, — the same year 
as his great adversar)^ Daniel Webster. It was just at the close of the Revo- 
lution. Tlie South, which had borne the brunt of the war in its last years, was 
worn out and impoverished. Calhoun's father, Patrick Calhoun, who had immi- 
grated frorn the north of Ireland, died when his son was thirteen. Neverthe- 
less, Calhoun managed to work 
his way through Yale College, 
where he won distinguished hon- 
ors. He used to relate that in 
his senior year, when he was one 
of the very few in his class who 
maintained democratic opinions, 
President Dwight asked him, 
"What is the legitimate source 
I if power?" "The people," an- 
swered Calhoun. Dr. Dwight 
combated this opinion ; Calhoun 
replied ; and the whole hour of 
recitation was consumed in the 
debate. Dr. Dwight was so 
much struck with the ability dis- 
played by the student that he 
remarked to a friend that Cal- 
houn had talent enough to be a 
President of the United States. 
He did not foresee that Cal- 
houn would imbibe ideas which, 
logically carried out, would leave 
no United States in existence to require a President. 

After two years in the South Carolina Legislature, Calhoun was elected to 
Congress in iSio, where he served until 1S17, when he became Secretary of 
War under President Monroe. In 1S24 he was elected Vice- President, under 
John Quincy Adams, and again in 1828, when Andrew Jackson was elected 
President. In 1832 he resigned the Vice- Presidency to become Senator from 
South Carolina, and remained in the Senate during nearly all the remainder of 
bis life. 

In 1828 Congress passed a tariff bill by which the protective duties were 




John Ericsson. 



624 ^-^^ NULLIFICATION DEBATE. 

considerably increased. This bill was bitterly opposed in the South, where it 
was styled the " Tariff of" Abominations ; " and on its passage Calhoun prepared 
a most remarkable paper, called the "South Carolina Exposition," in which he 
maintained that the Constitution authorized Congress to levy tariff taxes only 
for revenue ; that protective taxes were therefore unconstitutional ; and that a 
State had the right and power to declare an unconstitutional law null and void, 
and to forbid its execution in that State. It was the purpose of the people of 
South Carolina to agitate for the repeal of the obnoxious law ; and, in case 
their efforts should fail, to resort to the remedy of " nullification." " This Ex- 
position," says Parton, "was the beginning of our woe, — the baleful &^^ from 
which were hatched nullification, treason, civil war, and the desolation of the 
Southern States." It was issued in December, 1828. In March, 1829, the new 
government, Jackson at its head, came into power. Calhoun, being re-elected 
Vice-President, still held his chair as President of the Senate. 

In 1829 the long debate over the question. Does the Constitution make us 
one sovereign nation, or only a league of sovereign States ? was at its height. 
That debate had begun as soon as the Constitution was ratified, in 1 788, and it 
continued until the outbreak of the war in 1861. For many years the theory of 
a "compact," from which a State might withdraw at will, was maintained by 
various advocates, of whom Calhoun was the foremost. He supported his view 
with great ability and ingenuity, and with industry and devotion which never 
flagged or wavered. In his own State his doctrines were accepted with almost 
complete unanimity ; and the Senators and Representatives in Congress from 
South Carolina were all disciples of the Calhoun school. In the Senate, as he 
was the presiding officer, he could not take an active part in debate ; but he had 
an able supporter in General Robert Y. Hayne, who was a strong and eloquent; 
speaker. In January, 1830, the agitation in Congress culminated in the famous 
encounter of Hayne with Daniel Webster, who in his great speech on Foot's 
Resolution utterly demolished the theory of nullification as a constitutional right, 
and made his never-to-be-forgotten plea for indissoluble union. Hayne had 
maintained that nullification was a constitutional remedy, — a " reserved right." 
Webster tore this theory into shreds and scattered it to the winds. With a 
power of satire under which Hayne writhed in his seat, he drew a picture of 
practical nullification ; he showed that an attempt to nullify the laws of the 
nation was treason, — that it led directly and necessarily to armed force, and 
was nothing else than revolution. 

And to revolution South Carolina now proceeded. The tariff of 1828 was 
not repealed ; and after the presidential election of 1832, under the direction of 
Calhoun, who had resigned the Vice- Presidency, a convention of the people of 
the State was called, which passed the famous Ordinance of Nullification, 
declaring the tariff law of 1828 null and void in South Carolina. General 



JOHN C. CALHOUN. 



62s 



Hayne. who had been United States Senator, was made Governor ot" South 
Carolina ; and Callioun was elected to the Senate of the United States. On 
the passage of the famous Ordinance of Nullification by the people of South 
Carolina, the excitement throughout the Union became intense. The apprehen- 
sion of civil war, and of the dissolution of the Union, prevailed everywhere. 

On the loth of December, 1832, General Jackson issued his memorable 
proclamation against nullification. This was followed by Governor Hayne's 

counter- proclamation, de- 
fending the position as- 
sumed by the State, and 
calling out twelve thousand 
volunteers. The crisis evi- 
dently approached. The 
United States troops were 
concentrated, in some force, 
at Augusta and Charleston, 
seemingly for the purpose of 
repressing any insurrection- 
ary or rebellious movement 
in the State ; while on the 
other side equal preparation 
was made. The militia in 
certain sections of the State 
were called out and drilled, 
muskets were put in order, 
swords cleaned and sharp- 
ened, and depots of provi- 
sions and supplies estab- 
lished. Officers, natives of 
the State, in the United 
States army and navy, con- 
templated resigning their 
commissions, and taking up 
arms in defense of the State ; and some foreign officers, then in the country, 
actually tendered their services to the governor, against the forces of the 
general orovernment. 

On the 4th of January, 1833, Mr. Calhoun took his seat in the Senate of 
the Union, as the great champion of nullification. This was the most import- 
ant period in his political life — a period when the whole resources of his intellect 
were put forth in defense of his favorite doctrine. His most powerful oratorical 
effort was made on the 15th and i6th of February, 1832, against a bill "further 
40 




-3?-£tLH 



ENTRANCE TU A COTTON-YARD, NEW ORLEANS. 



626 SPEECH ON THE FORCE BILL. 

to provide for the collection of duties on imports." This was the celebrated 
" Force Bill," the object of which was to enable the Federal executive to enforce 
the collection of the revenue in South Carolina. 

On the 15th of February, Mr. Calhoun addressed the Senate, beginning as 
follows : " Mr. President, I know not which is most objectionable, the provisions 
of the bill, or the temper in which its adoption has been urged. If the extra- 
ordinary powers with which the bill proposes to clothe the Executive, to the 
utter prostration of the Constitution and the rights of the States, be calculated 
to impress our minds with alarm at the rapid progress of despotism in our 
country, the zeal with which every circumstance calculated to misrepresent or 
exaggerate the conduct of Carolina in the controversy is seized on, with a view 
to excite hostility against her, but too plainly indicates the deep decay of that 
brotherly feeling which once existed between these States, and to which we are 
indebted for our beautiful Federal system. . . . 

" It has been said by the senator from Tennessee (Mr. Grundy) to be a 
measure of peace: ! Yes, such peace as the wolf gives to the lamb — the kite to 
the dove. Such peace as Russia gives to Poland, or death to its victim ! A 
peace, by extinguishing the political existence of the State, by awing her into 
an abandonment of the exercise of every power which constitutes her a sovereign 
community. It is to South Carolina a question of self-preservation ; and I pro- 
claim it, that should this bill pass, and an attempt be made to enforce it, it will 
be resisted at every hazard — even that of death itself Death is not the greatest 
calamity : there are others still more terrible to the free and brave, and among 
them may be placed the loss of liberty and honor. There are thousands of her 
brave sons who, if need be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down their lives in 
defense of the State, and the great principles of constitutional liberty for which 
she is contending. God forbid that this should become necessary ! It never 
can be, unless this government is resolved to bring the question to extremity, 
when her gallant sons will stand prepared to perform the last duty — to die 
nobly. 

" In the same spirit, we are told that the Union must be preserved, without 
regard to the means. And how is it proposed to preserve the Union ? By 
force ! Does any man in his senses believe that this beautiful structure — this 
harmonious aggregate of States, produced by the joint consent of all — can be 
preserved by force ? Its very introduction will be the certain destruction of this 
Federal Union. No, no. You cannot keep the States united in their constitu- 
tional and Federal bonds by force. Force may, indeed, hold the parts together, 
but such union would be the bond between master and slave : a union of exac- 
tion on one side, and of unqualified obedience on the other." 

In spite of Mr. Calhoun's efforts, the " Force Bill " was passed ; and it is 
said that President Jackson privately warned him that the moment news was 



JOHN C. CALHOUN. 



627 



received of resistance to the Government in South Carolina, he (Calhoun) would 
be arrested on a charge of treason. At the same time, however, important 
coiicessions were made to South Carolina, by which the threatened conflict was 
avoided. In February, Henry Clay introduced in Congress a compromise 
tariff bill, by which the existing duties were to be decreased each year until they 
reached a minimum of twenty per cent, in 1842. Accordingly, each party is 




the controversy claimed to have triumphed ; and the crisis passed, without 
finally and formally settling the question of nullification. 



THE SLAVERY AGITATION. 

During Jackson's administration slavery became the chief question of poli- 
tics. Texas achieved her independence, and the question of her annexation to 
the United States as a slave State caused an exciting and angry contest. In the 
House of Representatives, John Ouincy Adams began his famous crusade for 
the right of petition, and the contest over petitions for the abolition of slavery 
convulsed the House. In all these years of stormy debate, Calhoun was always 
the defender of slavery. He made no apologies, but proclaimed it a righteous, 
just, and beneficial institution ; and he regarded all efforts to abolish or restrict 
it, or to prevent the catching and return of fugitives, as an interference with the 
rights of the slave States which would justify their secession from the Unioa 



I 



628 MISS MARTINEAU'S SKETCH. 

Miss Harriet Martineau, who visited the United States at this time, has re 
corded in her " Retrospect of Western Travel " her impressions of Mr. Calhoun, 
She writes : — 

" Mr. Calhoun followed, and impressed me very strongly. While he kept to the question, 
what he said was close, good, and moderate, though delivered in rapid speech, and with a voice 
not sufficiently modulated. But when he began to reply to a taunt of Colonel Benton's, that he 
wanted to be President, the force of his speaking became painful. He made protestations which it 
seemed to strangers had better have been spared, ' that he would not turn on his heel to be Presi- 
dent,' and that 'he had given up all for his own brave, magnanimous little State of South Carolina.* 
While thus protesting, his eyes flashed, his brow seemed charged with thunder, his voice became 
almost a bark, and his sentences were abrupt, intense, producing in the auditory a sort of laugh 
which is squeezed out of people by an application of a very sudden mental force. 

" Mr. Calhoun's countenance first fixed my attention ; the splendid eye, the straight forehead, 
surmounted by a load of stiff, upright, dark hair, the stern brow, the inflexible mouth, — it is one of 
the most remarkable heads in the country." 

Miss Martinean's sketch of the three great statesmen of the time is espe- 
cially interesting : — 

" Mr. Clay sitting upright on the sofa, with his snuff-box ever in his hand, would discourse for 
many an hour in his even, soft, deliberate tone, on any one of the great subjects of American policy 
which we might hajipen to start, a'ways amazing us with the moderation of estimate and speech 
which so impetuous a nature has been able to attain. Mr. Webster, leaning back at his ease, telling 
stories, cracking jokes, shaking the sofa with burst after burst of laughter, or smoothly discoursing 
to the perfect felicity of the logical part of one's constitution, would illuminate an evening now 
and then. Mr. Calhoun, the cast-iron man, who looks as if he had never been born and could 
never be extinguished, would come in sometimes to keep our understanding on a painful stretch for 
a short while, and leave us to take to pieces his close, rapid, theoretical, illustrated talk, and see 
what we could make of it. We found it usually more worth retaining as a curiosity, than as either 
very just or useful. 

"I know of no man who lives in such utter intellectual solitude. He meets men and 
harangues by the fireside as in the Senate; he is wrought like a piece of machinery, set going 
vehemently by a weight, and stops while you answer ; he either passes by what you say, or twists it 
into a suitability with what is in his head, and begins to lecture again." 

Miss Martineau also saw Calhoun in South Carolina, where he was the 
political teacher and guide, and the acknowledged chief: — 

" During my stay in Charleston, Mr. Calhoun and his family arrived from Congress, and 
there was something very striking in the welcome he received, like that of a chief returned to the 
bosom of his clan. He stalked about like a monarch of the little domain, and there was certainly 
an air of mysterious understanding between him and his followers." 

The agitation of the slavery question, from 1835 to 1S50, was chiefly the 
work of this one man. " The labors of Mr. Garrison and Mr. Wendell Phillips," 
saysParton, "might have borne no fruit during their lifetime, if Calhoun had not 
made it his business to supply them with material, ' I mean to force the issue 
upon the North,' he once wrote ; and he did force it. The denial of the right 



3 



JOHN C. CALHOUN. 



629 



of petition, the annexation of Texas, the forcing of slavery into the Territories, 
' — these were among the issues upon which he hoped to unite the South in his 
favor, while retaining enough strength at the North to secure his election to the 
Presidency. Failing in all his schemes of personal advancement, he died in 1 850, 
still protesting that slavery is divine, and that it must rule this country or ruin it." 
Calhoun's life came to an end in March, 1850, before the Compromise Bill 
of that year had once more postponed the "irrepressible conflict." On the 4tb 




OSCEOLA S INDIGNATION. 



of March his last speech was read in the Senate by a friend, he then being too 
weak to deliver it. Three days afterward, when Webster delivered his famous 
" 7th of March speech," Calhoun Hterally rose from his dying bed that" he might 
be present, and sat for the last time in his accustomed seat, his rigid face and 
intense gaze giving him a weird and unearthly aspect. On the 24th of the same 
month he died ; and his ashes were taken to Charleston, there to mingle with 
the soil of the State to which he had given a life's devotion, and which had re- 
warded him with unfailing love and honor. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

THE PRESERVER OK THE UXION. 



BY PROF. W. W. BIRDSALL* 




N our gallery of famous Americans there is one figure which 
stands peculiarly alone. Before the halo of martyrdom 
had made his memory sacred, even before his divine 
insight had perceived the time when he should set the 
bondman free, it was declared that there was for Abraham 
Lincoln " a niche in the temple of fame, a niche near 
Washington." But our feeling for* Lincoln is very different 
from the veneration with which we regard the Father of 
his country. Washington was a stately figure, too digni- 
fied for near approach. He commanded respect, admira- 
tion loyalty : but our feeling for Lincoln includes all these 
and with them a peculiar affection as for one very near and 
dear. It is not only that he is nearer to us in point of time ; his was a nature 
so larcre, an experience so comprehensive, that the minds and hearts of all our 
people find in his a chord to which their own responds ; and within the breast 
of every American there is something that claims Lincoln as his own. 

The fame of Lincoln is increasing as the inner history of the great struggle 
for the life of the nation becomes known. For almost two decades after that 
stru<ycrle had settled the permanence of our government, our vision was ob- 
scured by the near view of the pygmy giants who " strutted their brief hour 
upon the stage ;" our ears were filled with the loud claims of those who would 
ma<i-nify their own little part, and, knowing the facts concerning some one frac- 
tion of the contest assumed from that knowledge to proclaim the principle 
which should have governed the whole. Time is dissipating the mist, and we 
are coming better to know the great man who had no pride of opinion, who was 



*Prof. Birdsall, former President of Swarthmore College, has for years been a student 
of Lincoln's life. 
630 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN: 



631 



willing to let Seward or Sumner or McClellan imagine that he himself was the 
guiding, dominating spirit of the government, if so that government might have 
the service of which each was capable ; we see more clearly the real greatness 
of the leader who was too slow for one great section of his people, and too fast 
for another, too conservative for those, too radical for these ; who refused to 
make the contest merely a war for the negro, yet who saw the end from the 
beginning, and so led, not a section of his people, but the whole people, away 
from the Egj'ptian plagues of slavery and disunion, united in sentiment and 
feeling and capable of united action, to the borders of the promised land. We 
are coming to appreciate that the " Father Abraham " who in that Red Sea 
passage of fraternal strife was ready to listen to every tale of sorrow, and who 
wanted it said that he " always plucked a thistle and' planted a flower when he 

thought a flower would grrow," 
was not only in this sense the 
father of his people, but that he 
was a truly great statesman, 
who, within the limits of human 
knowledge and human strength, 
guided the affairs of state with 
a wisdom, a patience, a courage, 
which belittle all praise, and 
make him seem indeed a man 
divinely raised up, not only to 
set the captive free, but in order 
that "government of the people, 
by the people, and for the peo- 
ple, shall not perish from the 
earth." 

Abraham Lincoln came into 
the world in 1809, in a miserable 
hovel in Kentucky. His family were of that peculiar people, the shiftless, im- 
provident, "poor whites" of the South. The father, Thomas Lincoln, was a 
typical specimen of his class, — lazy, trifling, spending his life in the search of some 
place in Kentucky, Indiana, or Illinois, where the rich soil would kindly yield its 
fruits without the painful price of labor. Some three generations back, he traced 
his ancestry to a Quaker origin in Pennsylvania ; but the thrift of that peaceful 
people was not entailed in the family, and if the energy and ability of the Vir- 
ginian grandfather who came with Boone into Kentucky was transmitted to the 
future President, certainly his father had it not. The mother's ancestry is un- 
known ; by courtesy she took her mother's name of Hanks. In youth she was 
both bright and handsome, and possessed of considerable intellectual force 




LIN'COLN S BOYHOOD HOME IN KENTUCKY. 



632 BOYHOOD DAYS. 

She taught her husband to read, and it is fair to imagine that had her lot been 
less sordid, her lite not ground down by labor and squalor and the vice about 
her, she would have been fitted to adorn a higher sphere of life. Her son, 
though she died when he was in his tenth year, and though another woman 
filled her place and deserved the love and devotion with which he repaid her 
goodness, cherished the memory of his "angel mother," testifying that to her 
he owed "all that he was or hoped to be." 

The story of Lincoln's boyhood belongs to a stage of civilization which our 
people have almost forgotten, or which they never knew. The removal to 
Spencer County, Indiana ; the "half-faced camp" in which the family lived ; the 
pride with which, a year later, they moved to a log cabin with dirt floor, and 
without doors or windows in the openings made for them ; the death of the 
mother ; the boy's first letter, begging a Kentucky preacher to come and preach 
a sermon over the grave in the wilderness ; the loneliness, suffering, and depri- 
vation that followed, complete a chapter v/hose pathos must touch all hearts. 
Relief came on the marriage of Thomas Lincoln to a thrifty Kentucky widow, 
whose advent necessitated a floor and doors and windows, who actually brought 
a stock of spare clothing and a clothes-press for its preservation, at which the 
boy, as he afterward said, " began to feel like a human being." This was typical 
frontier life. The hardship, the toil, the deprivation, killed the mothers ; myste- 
rious pestilence found, in the exposure and the filth, opportunity to sweep away 
whole families ; vice abounded ; ignorance and vulgarity were everywhere ; but, 
somehow, out of their midst came sometimes a strong character and a great 
man. From this soil grew Lincoln. Schools were few, irregular, and poor, in 
the backwoods ; but the young Lincoln took advantage of every such opportu- 
nity, and we find him at seventeen walking over" four miles for the purpose. 
Reading, writing, and elementary arithmetic, with some irregular exercises in 
composition and declaiming, formed the whole of the course of study, except that 
his last teacher, one Crawford, astonished the natives by undertaking to teach 
manners. He would require one pupil to go outside and enter the room as a 
lady or gentleman would enter a parlor. Another, acting the part of host, 
would receive the in-comer, and politely introduce him to the company. When, 
in after years, the President's arm was wearied by the vigorous greetings of 
the thousands who filed through the stately East Room of the White House, if 
he ever thought of those early mock receptions, the contrast must have afforded 
him rich amusement. 

At seventeen, Lincoln had grown to his full height ; he weighed one hun- 
dred and sixty pounds, and was wiry, strong, and vigorous. He wore low shoes 
or moccasins. His trousers were of buckskin, and usually bagged unnecessarily 
in one region, while, by reason of their brevity, they left several inches of shin 
bone exposed. A linsey-woolsey shirt and coon-skin cap, the tail hanging 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 633 

down his back, completed this backwoods outfit. It is doubtful whether he ever 
owned an arithmetic ; but leaves exist, taken from a book made and bound by 
him, in which he copied problems illustrating the various principles of arith- 
metic. One page is devoted to subtraction of Long Measure, Land Measure, 
and Dry Measure, the headings being written in a bold hand, and each subject 
illustrated by two or three problems. About the edges are some extra flour- 
ishes and ciphering, and at the bottom the touching lines : — 

"Abraham Lincoln 
his hand and pen 
he will be good but 
god knows When." 

His penmanship came to be regular in form, and better than that of any 
of his mates ; the samples which we see of his handwriting as a man are far 
above the average. He kept a copy-book, in which he entered everything that 
pleased his fancy. When paper failed, he wrote his selections with chalk or 
charcoal upon a plank or a shingle. He wrote the first drafts of compositions 
upon a smooth wooden shovel, which he planed off for each new effort. He 
devoured such books as he could borrow, and the Bible and .^^sop's Fables 
were for a long time the only ones he owned. Beside these, " Robinson Cru- 
soe," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," a History of the United States, and 
Weems' " Life of Washington," formed the bulk of his early reading. A copy of 
the Statutes of Indiana was borrowed from the constable, and studied with a care 
which possibly indicated his future career as a lawyer. His passion for reading 
was such as to cause remark amonaf his neighbors, who wondered to see the 
great awkward boy, after a day of labor, crouch in a corner of the log cabin, or 
spread his ungainly body under a tree outside, and bury himself in a book, while 
he devoured the corn bread which formed his supper. He delighted in " speechi- 
fying," as he called it, and upon the slightest encouragement would mount a 
stump and practice upon his fellow-laborers. He helped to support the family 
by working in his father's clearing, or by hiring to neighbors to plow, dig ditches, 
chop wood, or split rails, and for a time was employed as clerk in the cross-roads 
store. A journey to New Orleans as deck-hand on a flat-boat, widened his 
experience of mankind, and gave him his first glimpse of slavery. 

Early in 1830, he went, with the family, a fifteen days' journey to Illinois, 
where, in Macon County, five miles from Decatur, a new settlement was made. 
On a bluff overlooking the Sangamon River another log cabin was built ; land 
was fenced with the historic rails, some of which, thirty years later, were to play 
a prominent part in the presidential campaign ; and Lincoln, being now of age, 
left his father's family in these new quarters, to earn his living for himself The 
tenderness of heart which characterized him through life was well illustrated by 
his turning back, while on the journey to Illinois, and wading an icy river to 



634 



REMOVAL TO ILLINOIS. 



rescue a worthless pet dog which had fallen behind, and could not get across, 
and which " Abe " could not bear to leave whimpering and whining on the oppo- 
site shore. This same disposition had led him at all times to protest against the 
cruelty to animals practiced by his mates, and is only one of the traits which 
marked him as of a different mould. 

Another journey to New Orleans was his first employment after leaving 
home. Here he witnessed a slave auction. The scene impressed itself upon 
his heart and memorj', and he is said to have declared to his cousin and com- 
panion, "If I ever get a chance to hit that institution, Fll hit it hard." 

For several years he lived at New Salem, Illinois, serving as steamboat 




HOME OF LINCOLN AT GENTRYVILLE, INDIANA. 



pilot, and as clerk in a store and mill. At the time of the " Black Hawk War," 
being out of employment, he volunteered for service, and was elected captain. 
Returning at the close of the exoedition, he bought an interest in a store, for 
which he went in debt, and, presently selling it on credit and his debtor abscond- 
ing, he found himself burdened with claims which it took many years to dis- 
charge. 

He now began in earnest to study law, walking to Springfield to borrow 
books and return them ; and, as a means of living in the meantime, he entered 
the employ of the county surveyor and laboriously studied the principles of land 
measurement. Presently he began to practice law a little, representing friends 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



^iS 



before a justice of the peace, and, in 1834, he was elected to the Legislature, 
and served his county as a representative for four consecutive terms. Some 
elements of his popularity were his acknowledged honesty and fairness, his 
wonderful gift as a story-teller, his prowess as a wrestler, and, when actual 
necessity arose, as a fighter, and his reputation for knowledge. This latter had 
been acquired by his habit of studying to the bottom whatever subject he had 
in hand, and, although his range of information was not wide, when he under- 
took the discussion of any topic he soon demonstrated that he thoroughly 
understood it. 

His service in the Legislature was not remarkable. The country in which 




OPENING OF THE ILLINOIS AND MICHIGAN CANAL. 



he lived was just then wild upon the importance of public improvements, par- 
ticularly in the form of interior waterways, and it is not surprising that Lincoln 
should declare an ambition to become " the De Witt Clinton of Illinois ;" but 
the net result of the enterprise was a gigantic State debt. He was popular in 
the Legislature, and was twice the nominee of his party for Speaker, a nominal 
honor only, as the State was at that time Democratic. His most notable act 
during this time was his joining with a single colleague, in a written protest 
against the passage of pro-slavery resolutions. This protest appears on the 
records, and bases the opposition of the two signers upon their belief "that the 



636 A PECULIAR LAWYER. 

institution of slavery is founded on both injustice and bad policy," a declaration 
of faith which required some moral courage in 1837, and in a community largely 
of Southern origin. One other transaction which deserves mention was the 
carrying through the Legislature of a bill removing the capital from Vandalia 
to Springfield. This was accomplished after much political "wire-working," in 
which Lincoln was the leader, the adverse claims of a number of other towns 
being strenuously urged by their representatives. 

In the meantime Lincoln had been admitted to the bar, and, in 1837, 
removed to Springfield, where he had formed a partnership with an attorney of 
established reputation. He became a successful lawyer, not so much by his 
knowledge of the law, for this was never great, as by his ability as an advocate, 
and by reason of his sterling integrity. He would not be a party to misrepre- 
sentation, and, after endeavoring to dissuade the parties from litigation, refused 
to take cases which involved such action. He even was known to abandon a 
case which brought him unexpectedly into this attitude. In his first case before 
the United States Circuit Court he said that he had not been able to find any 
authorities supporting his side of the case, but had found several favoring the 
opposite, which he proceeded to quote. The very appearance of such an 
attorney in any case must have gone far to win the jury; and, when deeply 
stirred, the power of his oratory, and the invincible logic of his argument, made 
him a most formidable advocate. "Yes," he was overheard to say to a would-be 
client, " we can doubtless gain your case for you ; we can set a whole neighbor- 
hood at log-o-erheads ; we can distress a widowed mother and her six fatherless 
children, and thereby get for you six hundred dollars to which you seem to have 
a legal claim, but which rightfully belongs, it appears to me, as much to the 
woman and her children as it does to you. You must remember that some 
things legally right are not morally right. We shall not take your case, but 
will give you a little advice for which we will charge you nothing. You seem 
to be a sprightly, energetic man ; we would advise you to try your hand at 
making six hundred dollars in some other way." 

HIS PECULIAR HONESTY. 

His absolute honesty and care for that which was not his own is illustrated 
by his conduct as a postmaster. He had served in that capacity at New Salem, 
and when that office was discontinued, found himself indebted to the govern- 
ment to the amount of sixteen or eighteen dollars. For some reason this money 
was not demanded for several years, and in the. meantime he was in debt, and 
very poor, frequently being compelled to borrow money to supply his pressing 
needs ; but an agent of the department calling one day and presenting the 
account, he produced an old blue sock, from which he poured the identical silver 
and copper coins with which his New Salem neighbors had purchased stamps, 
and to the exact amount required. ^^ 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 637 

Early in life Lincoln became attached to an attractive and estimable girl, 
and they were to have been married when his law studies were completed. Her 
sudden death was such a shock to him, and threw him into such a condition of 
melancholy, that it was feared by his friends that his reason would be perma- 
nently dethroned. Some years later he married Miss Mary Todd, a young 
lady of Kentucky parentage and of good family. She was possessed of some 
culture and a vigorous and sprightly mind. Her temper, however, was erratic, 
and those who knew the family life intimately represent it as full of trials. 
Some of the incidents reported seem intensely amusing at this distance of time, 
but must have been painful in the extreme as actual occurrences. Such trials 
continued throughout Mr. Lincoln's life, and were the occasion of continual 
petty annoyance, and frequent embarrassment in the discharge of his public 
duties. 

He continued to " ride the circuit," being a great portion of the time absent 
from home in attendance at court, with the exception of his single term in Con- 
gress, until his election to the presidency. He was acquiring a very great influ- 
ence in his district and in the State, was one of the leading managers of the 
Whig party, and was usually a' candidate for presidential elector. When in, 
1S46, according to the peculiar system of rotation adopted by the Illinois politi- 
cians, it was his turn to go to Congress, he did not distinguish himself, though 
he seems to have made a favorable impression upon the party leaders, and the 
acquaintance thus formed was of great use to him later. 

Going back to Illinois, he again settled to the practice of law. It was in 
1853 that he received his largest fee. It was a case in which he defended the 
Illinois Central Railroad in a suit brouo^ht to collect taxes alleged to be due, and 
in which he was successful. He presented a bill for two thousand dollars, which 
the company refused to allow, when, after consultation with other lawyers, he 
brought suit for five thousand, which he received. 

It was not until the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, in 1854, that Lincoln 
was really aroused. He had always opposed the extension of slavery, holding 
opinions well indicated by his protest in the Legislature, already mentioned, and 
by the acute remark that it was " singular that the courts would hold that a man 
never lost his right to his property that had been stolen from him, but that he 
instantly lost his right to himself if he was stolen." The great question now 
absorbed his interest. He was constantly more bold in his position, and 
more powerful in his denunciation of the encroachments of the slave power. 
He became, therefore, the natural champion of his party in the campaigns in 
which Senator Douglas undertook to defend before the people of his State his 
advocacy of " Squatter Sovereignty," or the right of the people of each Terri- 
tory to decide whether it should be admitted as a slave or a free State, and of 
the Kansas-Nebraska bill, by which the Missouri Compromise was repealed. 



63S THE LINCOLN-DOUGLAS DEBATES. 

{See Henry Clay.) The first great battle between these two giants of debate 
took place at the State Fair at Springfield, in October of 1854. Douglas made, 
on Tuesday, a great speech to an unprecedented concourse of people, and was 
the lion of the hour. The next day Lincoln replied, and his effort was such as to 
surprise both his friends and his opponents. It was probably the first occasion 
on which he reached his full power. In the words of a friendly editor : *' The 
Nebraska bill was shivered, and like a tree of the forest was torn and rent asunder 
by the hot bolts of truth. ... At the conclusion of this speech every man and 
child felt that it was unanswerable." 

It was arranged that Lincoln was to follow Douglas and reply to his speeches, 
and the two met in joint debate at Peoria, after which Douglas proposed that 
they should both abandon the debate, agreeing to cancel his appointments and 
make no more speeches during that campaign, if Lincoln would do the same. 
Lincoln somewhat weakly agreed to this proposition, and the next day, when 
Douglas pleaded hoarseness as an excuse, he gallantly refused to take advan- 
tage of " Judge Douglas's indisposition." He faithfully kept to the agreement, 
though Douglas allowed himself, on one occasion, to be tempted into violating it, 

THE DEBATES WITH DOUGLAS. 

But it was the campaign of 1858 which made Lincoln famous, which fully 
demonstrated his powers, and which prepare^I him for the presidency. Douglas 
was immensely popular. His advocacy of territorial expansion appealed to the 
patriotism of the young and ardent; his doctrine of "Popular Sovereignty" 
was well calculated to mislead the shallow thinker ; and his power in debate had 
given him the name of " the Little Giant." True, the " Dred Scott decision " had 
made it difficult to hold his Northern constituency to the toleration of any atti- 
tude which could be construed as favoring the South,''" but his opposition to the 
Lecompton pro-slavery constitution, on the ground that it had never been fairly 
voted upon by the people of Kansas, not only maintained the loyalty of his par- 

* The "Dred Scott decision " was delivered by Chief Justice Taney, of the United States 
Supreme Court, on March 6, 1857, immediately after the inauguration of President Buchanan. 
Dred Scott was a slave who had been taken by his master from Missouri to Illinois and Wisconsin, 
where slavery was illegal, and had lived there for some years. He was then taken back to Missouri, 
and having been whipped, he brought suit against his master for assault, pleading that he was made 
free by being taken into a free State, where slavery was illegal. The Missouri Circuit Court de- 
cided in his favor ; but the case was appealed to the United States Supreme Court, which decided 
Ihat the Missouri Compromise, limiting the area of slavery, was unconstitutional, and that therefore 
slaveholders could enter any free State with slaves and hold them there as property ; that negroes, be- 
ing incapable of becoming citizens, had no standing in court, and could not maintain a suit for any 
purpose. As this decision overthrew all barriers against the extension of slavery, even to the free 
States, and declared that the negro had no rights which the courts would protect, it caused great 
excitement in the North, and aroused intense hostility to the aggressive demands of the slave power. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 639 

tisans. but led Horace Greeley and some other leaders of the new Republican 
party to favor his re-election to the Senate, hoping to separate him from thc^ pro- 
slavery interest, and thus introduce a split in the Democratic party. But Lin- 
coln and those who advised with him were firmly of opinion that the anti-slavery 
cause was safe only in the hands of those who had consistently been its advo- 
cates, and took high and strong ground in favor of an aggressive campaign. 
Lincoln had come to be a really great political manager. He cared little for 
temporary success, if only he could foster the growth of a right public opinion, 
and thus make possible a future victory which would be permanent. So, in this 
campaign, when he proposed to press upon his opponent the question whether 
there were lawful means by which slavery could be excluded from a Territory 
before its admission as a state, his friends suggested that Douglas would reply 
that slavery could not exist unless it was desired by the people, and unless pro- 
tected by territorial legislation, and that this answer would be sufficiently satis- 
factory to insure his re-election. But Lincoln replied, " I am after larger game. 
If Dou<jlas so answers, he can never be President, and the battle of i860 is 
worth a hundred of this." Both predictions were verified. The people of the 
South might have forgiven Douglas his opposition to the Lecompton Constitution, 
but they could not forgive the promulgation of a doctrine which, in spite of the 
Dred Scott decision, would keep slavery out of a Territory ; and so, although 
Douglas was elected and Lincoln defeated, the Democracy was divided, and it 
was impossible for Douglas to command Southern votes for the Presidency. 

The campaign had been opened by a speech of Lincoln which startled the 
country by its boldness and its power. It was delivered at the Republican con- 
vention which nominated him for Senator, and had been previously submitted to 
his confidential advisers. They strenuously opposed the introduction of its 
opening sentences. He v/as warned that they would be fatal to his election, 
and, in the existing state of public feeling, might permanently destroy his politi- 
cal prospects. Lincoln could not be moved. "It is true" said he, "and I ivill 
deliver it as written. I would rather be defeated with these expressions in 
my spfeech held up and discussed before the people than be victorious without 
them." The paragraph gave to the country a statement of the problem as terse 
and vigorous and even more complete than Seward's "irrepressible conflict," 
and as startling as Sumner's proposition that "freedom was national, slavery 
sectional." "A house divided against itself," said Lincoln, " cannot stand. I 
believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I 
do not expect the Union to be dissolved ; I do not expect the house to fall ; but 
I expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. 
Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the farther spread of it, and place it 
where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate 
extinction, or its advocates will push it forward till it shall become alike lawful 



640 HIS VIEW OF THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

m all the States, — old as well as new, North as well as South." It seems small 
wonder that Douglas should interpret this as a threat of sectional strife, should 
magnify it and distort it, and that it should thus be the means of driving many 
timid voters to the support of the more politic candidate. 

Never had the issues of a political campaign seemed more momentous ; 
never was one more ably contested. The triumph of the doctrine of "popular 
sovereignty," in the Kansas-Nebraska bill, had opened the Territories to slavery, 
while it professed to leave the question to be decided by the people. To the 
question whether the people of a Territory could exclude slavery Douglas had 
answered, "That is a question for the courts to decide," but the Dred Scott 
decision, practically holding that the Federal Constitution guaranteed the right 
to hold slaves in the Territories, seemed to make the pro-slavery cause tri- 
umphant. The course of Douglas regarding the Lecompton Constitution 
however, had made it possible for his friends to describe him as "the true 
champion of freedom," while Lincoln continually exposed, with merciless force, 
the illogical position of his adversary, and his complete lack of poHtical 
morality. 

Douglas claimed that the doctrine of popular sovereignty " originated when 
God made man and placed good and evil before him, allowing him to choose 
upon his own responsibility." But Lincoln declared with great solemnity: " No ; 
God did not place good and evil before man, telling him to make his choice. 
On the contrary, God did tell him there was one tree of the fruit of which he 
should not eat, upon pain of death." The question was to him one of right, 
a high question of morality, and only upon such a question could he ever be 
fully roused. " Slavery is wrong," was the keynote of his speeches. But he 
did not take the position of the abolitionists. He even admitted that the South 
was entitled, under the Constitution, to a national fugitive slave law, though 
his soul revolted at the law which was then in force. His position, as already 
cited, was that of the Republican party. He would limit the extension of 
slavery, and place it in such a position as would insure its ultimate extinction. It 
was a moderate course, viewed from this distance of time, but in the face of a 
dominant, arrogant, irascible pro-slavery sentiment it seemed radical in the 
extreme, calculated, indeed, to fulfill a threat he had made to the Governor of 
the State. He had been attempting to secure the release of a young negro 
from Springfield who was wrongfully detained in New Orleans, and who was in 
danger of being sold for prison expenses. Moved to the depths of his being 
by the refusal of the official to interfere, Lincoln exclaimed : "By God, Governor, 
I'll make the ground of this country too hot for the foot of a slave." 

Douo-las was re-elected. Lincoln had hardly anticipated a different result, 
and he had nothing of the feeling of defeat. On the contrary, he felt that the 
corner-stone of victory had been laid. He had said of his opening speech : "If 



FAME IN A WIDER FIELD. 641 

I had to draw a pen across my record, and erase my whole life from sight, and 
I had one poor gift or choice left as to what I should save from the wreck, I 
should choose that speech, and leave it to the world unerased ;" and now, he 
wrote : "The fight must go on. The cause of liberty must not be surrendered 
at the end of one or even one hundred defeats. Douglas had the ingenuity to 
be supported in the late contest both as the best means to break down and to 
uphold the slave interest. No ingenuity can keep these antagonistic elements 
in harmony long. Another explosion will soon come." And the e.xplosion was 
only two years in coming. Neither was he in doubt about the effect of his own 
labors. "I believe I have made some marks," said he, "which will tell for the 
cause of liberty long after I am gone." He had bidden his countrymen "Re- 
turn to the fountain whose waters spring close by the blood of the Revolution. 
Think nothing of me ; take no thought for the political fate of any man whom- 
soever, but come back to the truths that are in the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence ;" and defeat, which he foresaw must be temporary, was as nothing to him. 
But his great contest had made him famous. It is often said that Lincoln 
in i860 was practically unknown outside of Illinois. But this cannot be main- 
tained. In Illinois his name was a household word. " Come to our place," 
wrote a political manager in 1852, "people place more confidence in you than 
in any other man. Men who do not read want the story told as only you can tell 
it. Others may make fine speeches, but it would not be, ' Lincoln said so in his 
speech.' " And now his name was on the lips of every earnest advocate of 
freedom the country over. At the East there was deep and widespread interest 
in him. The people who looked up to Seward and Sumner and Wendell 
Phillips as the exponents of the gospel of freedom rejoiced at hearing of this 
new prophet, albeit he came from the wilderness. 

HIS COOPER INSTITUTE SPEECH. 

So, when in i860 Lincoln appeared by invitation to deliver an address at 
the Cooper Institute in New York, Horace Greeley declared that " No man has 
been welcomed by such an audience of the intellect and mental culture of our 
city since the days of Clay and Webster." No audience was ever more sur- 
prised. The scholarly people who thronged the immense audience-room had not 
really believed that any genuine good could come out of the Nazareth of Illinois, 
and the awkward, uncouth appearance of the speaker did not reassure them. 
They expected to hear a ranting, shallow stump speech, which might be adapted 
to persuade the ignorant people of a prairie State, but the hearing of which 
would rather be an ordeal to their cultured ears. But the effort was dignified, 
calm, clear, luminous. If it was not the speech of a scholar, it was that of a 
man full of his great subject, and with a scholar's command of all that bore upon 
it. It is said that those who afterward performed the work of publishing the 



642 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



speech as a campaign document were three weeks in verifying the statements 
and finding the historical records referred to. 

He had taken the East by storm. He was invited to speak in many places 
in New England, and everywhere met with the most flattering reception, which 
surprised almost as much as it delighted him. It astonished him to hear that 
the Professor of Rhetoric of Yale College took notes of his speech and lectured 
jUpon them to his class, and followed him to Meriden the next evening to hear 
him again for the same purpose. An intelligent hearer described as remarkable 
" the clearness of your statements, the unanswerable style of your reasoning, and 
especially your illustrations, which were romance and pathos, fun and logic, all 
welded together." Perhaps his style could not be better described. He him- 
self said that it used to anger him, when a child, to hear statements which he 
could not understand, and he was thus led to form the habit of turning over a 
thought until it was in language any boy could comprehend. 

Lincoln had in 1856 been somewhat talked of by his Illinois friends for 
Vice-President, and even for President ; but he had felt that other men, of wider 
reputation, would better lead the party. Now, however, he thought himself a 
proper candidate, and freely consulted with his friends in furtherance of his 
canvass. When the convention met in Chicago, the candidacy of Seward was 
so prominent, and his managers had such a reputation for political finesse, that 
it was with a surprise amounting to disgust that they saw themselves out-shouted 
and out-generaled by their Western competitors. Lincoln was nominated on 
the third ballot, amid such enthusiasm as had never been equaled. 

As had been predicted, the Democrats had not been able to hold together, 
the pro-slavery wing refusing to endorse the nomination of Douglas, and putting 
Breckinridge in the field. The campaign was conducted with great enthusiasm 
on the part of the Republicans, all the candidates for the nomination uniting in 
working for the success of Lincoln and Hamlin, and the result was a majority 
of fifty-seven in the electoral colleges. 

From this time, the life of Abraham Lincoln is the History of the Rebellion. 
It cannot be adequately written here. Every day was crowded with events 
which seem unimportant only because overshadowed by others whose world-wide 
influence commands attention. Hardly was the election over when active steps 
were taken in the South looking toward disunion. By February, seven .State 
Legislatures had passed ordinances of secession, and the Southern Confederacy 
was practically organized. Few upon either side expected war, but the air was 
full of trouble, and the future looked very dark. 

On the nth of February, Lincoln took leave of his old friends and neigh- 
bors in a litde speech of most pathetic beauty, and journeyed to Washington by 
way of all the principal cities of the North. Everywhere he was received with 
acclamation, and at every stop he made speeches full of tact, and largely de- 



OUTBREAK OF THE WAR. 



643 



voted to an attempt to quiet the general apprehension and to demonstrate to 
the people of the South that they had no just cause of complaint. There was 
intense excitement throughout the country, and especially in Washington, where 
threats were freely made that Lincoln should never be inaugurated. The 
veteran General Scott, however, who was in command, was thoroughly loyal, and 
determined to prevent violence. He quietly organized a small but efficient force 
of well-armed men, in citizen's dress, who guarded the Capitol and streets until 
after the inauguration. Threatened violence in Baltimore caused a change of 
Lincoln's route from Harrisburg, 
by which he arrived in Washing- 
ton unexpectedly, and the re- 
maining time until March 4th 
was spent in preparing his Inau- 
gural. 

When Chief-Justice Taney 
had administered the oath of 
office, the new President deliv- 
ered the Inaucjural, which, while 
it was largely addressed to the 
Southern people, must have been 
really intended to strengthen the 
hearts of the friends of the Union. 
It foreshadowed fully and faith- 
fully the course of his administra- 
tion, and left no slightest excuse 
for secession or rebellion. He 
pointed out in the kindest possi- 
ble manner the inevitable results 
of disunion, and, while sacrificing 
no principle, and declaring his 
purpose to fulfill his oath and to 
preserve the Union, the tone of 

the address has been likened to that of a sorrowing father to his wayward 
children. 

THE GREAT CIVIL WAR. 

His task was such as no man ever faced before. The great republic, the 
only great and promising experiment in self-gove'-nment that the world had 
ever seen, seemed about to end, after all, in failure. It was to be determined 
whether the Constitution contained the germs of its own destruction, or whether 
the government established under its provisions possessed the necessary 
strength to hold itself together. 




GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT. 



644 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



Mr. Lincoln called to his cabinet the ablest men of his party, two of 
whom, Seward and Chase, had been his competitors for the nomination, and 
the new administration devoted itself to the work of saving the Union. Every 
means was tried to prevent the secession of the border States, and the Presi- 
dent delayed until Fort Sumter was fired upon before he began active measures 
for the suppression of the Rebeliion and called for seventy-five thousand 
volunteers. 

The great question, from the start, was the treatment of the negro. The 
advanced anti-slavery men demanded decisive action, and could not understand 
that success depended absolutely upon the administration commanding the 
support of the whole people. And so Mr. Lincoln incurred the displeasure 
and lost the confidence of some of those who had been his heartiest supporters 
by keeping the negro in the background and making the preservation of the 




LIBBV PRISON IN RICHMOND. 



Union the great end for which he strove. "I am naturally anti-slavery," said 
he at a later time. " If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. I cannot 
remember the time when I did not so think and feel. And yet I have never 
understood that the Presidency conferred upon me an unrestricted right to act 
upon that judgment and feeling. It was in the oath I took that I would, to the 
best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United 
States. . . . This oath even forbade me practically to indulge my private 
abstract judgment on the moral question of slavery." And, although hd 
repeatedly declared that, if he could do so, he would preserve the Union jidth 
slavery, he continued, "I could not feel that, to the best of my ability, I had 
even tried to preserve the Constitution, if to save slavery or any minor matter, 
I should permit the wreck of government, country, and Constitution, all 
together," and so, when it became evident that the salvation of the Union 



HIS POLICY LV THE WAR. 645 

demanded the destruction of that accursed system, the President was ready to 
strike the blow, and he found ahiiost the whole people ready to support him. 

It is true that he could never count upon the absolute loyalty of all those 
who should have been his support. Radical men could not understand his pro- 
gressive conservatism. When he refused, early in the war, to allow a self-confi- 
dent general to emancipate negroes, the abolitionists were shocked and grieved 
When he retained in command, month after month, a general whom he, far 
better than his critics, knew to be a failure, the smaller men accused him of 
lack of energy and with triBing. He could not silence them all with the lesson 
which he administered to the members of his cabinet when they protested 
against replacing McClellan in command of the forces in Washington after the 
failure of his campaign upon the James, and the crushing defeat of Pope. He 
showed them that he saw all that they did ; that he knew the weakness of that 
general even better than they ; nay, more, that in the light of all the facts the 
reinstatement was in the nature of a personal humiliation to himself. But when 
he asked them to name the man who could better be relied upon to reorganize 
the army, when he offered freely to appoint the better man if they would 
name him, they had no nomination to make. He had showed them anew 
the difference between the irresponsible critic and the responsible head of 
affairs. 

But upon what Lincoln called "the plain people," the mass of his country- 
men, he could always depend, because he, more than any other political leader 
in our history, understood them. Sumner, matchless advocate of liberty as he 
was, distrusted the President, and was desirous of getting the power out of his 
hands into stronger and safer ones. But suddenly the great Massachusetts 
Senator awoke to the fact that he could not command the support of his own 
constituency, and found it necessary to issue an interview declaring himself not- 
an opponent, but a supporter of Lincoln. 

In the dark days of 1862, when the reverses of the Union arms casta gloom 
over the North, and European governments were seriously considering the pro- 
priety of recognizing the Confederacy, it seemed to Mr. Lincoln that his time 
had come, that the North was prepared to support a radical measure, and that 
emancipation would not only weaken the South at home, but would make it 
impossible for any European government to take the attitude toward slavery 
which would be involved in recognizing the Confederacy. Action was de- 
layed until a favorable moment, and after the batde of Antietam the Presi- 
dent called his cabinet together and announced that he was about to issue 
the Proclamation of Emancipation. It was a solemn moment. The President 
had made a vow — "I promised my God," were his words — that if the tide 
of invasion should be mercifully arrested, he would set the negro free. The 
final proclamation, issued three months later, fitly closes with an appeal 



646 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



which indicates the devout spirit in which the deed was done: "And upon 
this act, sincerely beheved to be an act of justice, warranted by the Con- 
stitution upon miUtary necessity. I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, 
and the gracious favor of Ahnighty God." 



HIS GREATNESS AS A STATESMAN, 



But the negro question, though a constant, underlying difficulty, was by no 
means the whole of Lincoln's problem. Questions of foreign policy, of the 




BIRD S-EYE VIEW OF ANDERSON VILLE PRISON. 



conduct of the war, the ever present necessity of providing money, which 
flowed out of the treasury in a thousand streams under the stress of daily 
growing and expanding public expenditure, the jealousy of politicians and the 
bickerings of generals, all these, and a thousand wearing, perplexing details, 
filled his days and nights with labor and anxiety. And, through It all, the great 
man, bearing his burden from day to day, grew In the love of his people as they 
came to know hira better. It is of the human side of Lincoln that we think 



HIS GREAT ABILITIES. 



&47 



most, of his homely speech, his kindHness, of the way he persisted, all through 
the war, in seeing and conversing with the thousands of all classes who 
thronged the doors of the White House, of the tears that came to his eyes at 
each story of distress, of his readiness to pardon, his unwillingness to punish, — 




THE CAPTURE OF BOOTH, THE SLAYER OF LINCOLN. 



but this is only part of Lincoln. His grasp of questions of State policy was 
superior to that of any of his advisers. The important dispatch to our minister 
to Enorland in May, 1861, outlining the course to be pursued toward that 
power, has been published in its original draft, showing the work of the Secre- 



64S ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

tary of State and the President's alterations. Of this publication the editor of 
the North American Review says: " Many military men, who have had access 
to Ml-. Lincoln's papers, have classed him as the best general of the war. This 
paper will go far toward establishing his reputation as its ablest diplomatist." 
It would be impossible for any intelligent person to study the paper thu3 
published, the omissions, the alterations, the substitutions, without acknowledg- 
ing that they were the work of a master mind, and that the raw backwoodsman, 
not three months in office, was the peer of any statesman with whom he might 
find it necessary to cope. He was entirely willing to grant to his secretaries 
and to his generals the greatest liberty of action ; he was ready to listen to 
any one, and to accept advice even from hostile critics ; and this readiness made 
them think, sometimes, that he had little mind of his own, and brought upon 
him the charge of weakness ; but, as the facts have become more fully known, 
it has grown more and more evident that he was not only the " best general " 
and the "ablest diplomatist," but the greatest man among all the great men 
whom that era of trial brought to the rescue of our country. 

And when the end came, after four years of conflict, when the triumph 
seemed complete and the work of saving the Union appeared to be accomplished, 
it needed only the martyr's crown to add depth of pathos to our memory of 
Lincoln, and insure him that fame which had been prophesied for him, should he 
make himself the " emancipator, the liberator. That is a fame worth living for ; 
ay, more, that is a fame worth dying for, though that death led through the blood 
of Gethsemane and the agony of the accursed tree. That is a fame which has 
glor>' and honor and immortality, and eternal life.'' 

The story of the end need hardly be told. On the evening of April 14, 
1865, Abraham Lincoln was shot by a half-crazed sympathizer with the South, 
John Wilkes Booth. The President had gone, by special invitation, to witness 
a play at Ford's Theatre, and the assassin had no difficulty in gaining entrance 
to the box, committing the dreadful deed, and leaping to the stage to make his 
escape. The story of his pursuit and death while resisting arrest is familiar to 
us all. Mr. Lincoln lingered till the morning, when the litde group of friends 
and relatives, with members of the cabinet, stood with breaking hearts about the 
death-bed. 

Sorrow more deep and universal cannot be imagined than enveloped our 
land on that 15th of April. Throughout the country every household felt the 
loss as of one of themselves. The honored remains lay for a few days in state 
at Washington, and then began the funeral journey, taking in backward course 
almost the route which had been followed four years before, when the newly 
elected President came to assume his burdens and to lay down his life. Such a 
pilgrimage of sorrow had never been witnessed by our people. It was followed 
by the sympathy of the whole world until the loved remains were laid in the 



APPEARANCE AND CHARACTER. 649 

tomb at Springfield. Over the door of the State House, in the city of his home, 
where his old neighbors took their last farewell, were the lines : — 



k 



' ' He left us borne up by our prayers ; 
He returns embalmed in our tears." 

"Cities and States," said the great Beecher, "are his pall-bearers, and the 
cannon speaks the hours with solemn progression. Dead, dead, dead, he yet 
peaketh. Is Washington dead ? Is Hampden dead ! Is any man, that ever 
was fit to live, dead ? Disenthralled of flesh, risen to the unobstructed sphere 
where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His life is now 
grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. Pass on, 
thou hast overcome. Ye people, behold the martyr whose blood, as so many 
articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty." 

TK.\ITS OF HIS CHARACTER. 

Abraham Lincoln was in every way a remarkable man. Towering above 
his fellows, six foot four inches in height, his gaunt figure, somewhat stooping, 
would of itself attract attention. Possessed of sfieantic strength, he was dififi- 
dent and modest in the extreme. The habits of youth, and a natural indif?erence 
to such things, made him through life careless of dress. When he came upon 
the stage at Cooper Institute, in i860, he probably was for the first time discon- 
certed by his clothing. He had donned a new suit, which seemed not to fit his 
great limbs, and showed the creases made by close packing in a valise. He 
imagined that his audience noticed the contrast between his dress and that of 
William Cullen Bryant and other gentlemen on the stage, and he was well into 
his address before he could forget it. The expression of his face was sad ; and 
as the war dragged its slow length along, that sadness deepened. His mind was 
always tinged with a settled melancholy, an inherited trait, and it is doubtful 
whether he was ever entirely free from the mental depression which on two 
occasions almost overwhelmed him. Notwithstanding this, he was the greatest 
inventor and gatherer of amusing stories known to our public life. He used 
these stories on every occasion, whether to amuse a chance listener, to enforce 
a point in a speech, or to divert the mind of an unwelcome questioner. Digni- 
fied statesmen and ambassadors were astounded when the President interrupted 
their stilted talk with a story of "a man out in Sangamon County." He 
opened that meeting of the Cabinet at which he announced his solemn purpose 
to issue the Emancipation Proclamation by reading aloud a chapter from 
Artemus Ward. But the joke was always for a purpose. He settled many a 
weighty question, which hours of argument could not have done so well, by the 
keen, incisive wit of one of these homely "yarns." His great Secretary of 
State, gravely discussing questions of state policy, felt the ground give way 



650 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



under his feet when the President was " reminded " of a story of a negro 
preacher. He settled the question of a change of commanding generals by 
remarking that it was a " bad plan to swap horses in the middle of a stream ; " 
and continually he lightened his labors and relieved his care by the native wit 
which could fit to the question of the hour, great or small, a homely illustration 
which exactly covered the ground. 

His gift of expression was only equaled by the clearness and firmness of 

.is grasp upon the truths which he desired to convey ; and the beauty of his 

words, upon many occasions, is only matcheil by the goodness and purity of the 

soul from which they sprung. 
His Gettysburg speech will be 
remembered as long as the story 
of the battle for freedom shall be 
told ; and of his second Inauo-u- 
ral it has been said : " This was 
like a sacred poem. No Ameri- 
can President had ever spoken 
words like these to the American 
people. America never had a 
President who found such words 
in the depth of his heart." These 
were its closing words, and with 
them we may fitly close this im- 
perfect sketch : — 

" Fondly do we hope, fer- 
vently do we pray, that this 
mighty scourge of war may 
speedily pass away. Yet if God 
wills that it continue until all the 
wealth piled by the bondman's 
two hundred and fifty years of 
unrequited toil shall be sunk, 
and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another 
drawn by the sword, as was said three thousand years agro, so still it must 
be said, 'The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.' 
With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God 
gives us to see the right, let us stri\e on to finish the work we are in, to bind 
up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for 
his widow and his orphan ; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and 
lasting peace among ourselves ana witn all nations." 




CH.\RI.ES SOMNER. 







MAIN BUILDING UF THK CENTENNIAL EXPOSITION, OPENED BY PRESIDENT GRANT IN 1S76 



ULYSSES S. GRANT 

THE HERO OK THE CIVIL WAR. 

HE historyof theWar for the Union ought to forever set at 
rest the idea that the day of heroes is past — that there 
are no longer great men to be found in occasions of su- 
preme need. Never was a great nation seemingly more 
helpless than the United States when Lincoln was inaugu- 
rated. Without army or navy, a government honeycombed 
with treason and apparently falling to pieces, a weak and 
nerveless administration giving place to one made up of 
new and untried men, a people without unity of mind or pur- 
pose, and not knowing whom to trust, — this was the situa- 
tion which loyal men faced with sinking hearts. Yet, only 
ten davs later, when the boom of sruns in Charleston harbor echoed over the 
[ North, all was changed as in the twinkling of an eye. At the call of the new 
President for aid, it seemed as though armed men sprang from the ground. 
And among them were not only soldiers, but commanders, — the men who were 
needed to organize and drill these hosts, to convert them into a great army and 
lead them on to victory. 

When the war broke out, Ulysses S. Grant was working for his father and 
brother, who carried on a leather and saddlery business in Galena, Illinois. His 
life had been, up to that time, a failure. Educated at West Point, he had gradu- 
ated with a record not quite up to the average of his class, and was distin- 
guished only as a fine horseman. He had, indeed, won credit and promotion in 

651 




652 ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

the Mexican War; but in 1854 he resigned from the army, with a record not 
entirely blameless, and went with his wife and two children to her former home 
at St. Louis. He was absolutely penniless, and without trade or profession. 
His wife had received from her father a farm of seventy acres and three slaves. 
To this farm Grant went with his little family. He worked hard. He raised 
wheat and potatoes, and cut up trees into cordwood, and tried to make a 
living selling the produce of the farm in St Louis. In this he was not success- 
ful. He then tried auctioneering and collecting bills, and made an effort in the 
real estate business. Finally he went to Galena, where he entered his father's 
store, his record up to that time being one of vain struggle, failure, and poverty. 
Such was the man who was suddenly to become the greatest of the Union com- 
manders, and to be regarded by the American people as one of the chief instru- 
ments in saving the life of the nation. 

But occasion does not form a man's character anew ; it simply calls out the 
qualities which are in him, perhaps unknown or unperceived. It is not hard 
now to see in the acts of Grant's youth how the boy was " father of the man." 
When only twelve years old he was one day sent with a team into the woods for 
a load of logs, which were to be loaded on the trucks by the lumbermen. No 
men were to be found ; nevertheless, by using the strength of the horses, he 
succeeded in loading the logs himself. When he returned, his father asked 
where the men were. " I don't know, and I don't care," said the plucky boy ; 
" I gfot the load without them." 

In such acts we get a glimpse of the boldness, the readiness of resource, 
and especially the dogged determination, which afterward made him such a 
power in the war. "Wherever Grant is, I have noticed that things moz'e," said 
President Lincoln. When, before leaving Missouri for the Mexican frontier, 
Grant rode to the home of Miss Julia Dent, four miles from where he was 
stationed, to ask her hand in marriage, he had to cross a swollen stream, in 
which his uniform was thoroughly soaked. Bound on such an errand, most men 
would have turned back ; but Grant rode on, borrowed a dry suit from his 
future brother-in-law, and accomplished the business in hand. Well might his 
wife say, in her quaint fashion, " Mr. Grant is a very obstitiate man." 

BREAKING OUT OK THE WAR. 

On April 15, i860, the telegraph flashed over the country President Lincoln's 
call for seventy-five thousand volunteers. That evening the court-house in 
Galena was packed with an excited crowd, women as well as men. Grant, 
being known as a West Pointer, was called upon to preside. This was not the 
kind of duty for which h-e was prepared, but, he says, " With much embarrass- 
ment and some prompting, I made out to announce the object of the meeting." 
Volunteers were called for, a company was raised upon the spot, and the 



CAPTURE OF FORT DONELSON. 653 

officers voted for. Before the balloting began Grant declined the captaincy, 
but promised to help all he could, and to be found in the service, in some 
position. 

In August, 1S61, Grant was made a brigadier-general, and put in command 
of the district of Southeast Missouri, including Western Kentucky and Cairo, 
Illinois, a point of great importance at the junction of the Mississippi and Ohio 
rivers. His first battle was at Belmont, Missouri, about twenty miles below 
Cairo, which he won after four hours' hard fighting. After the battle the Con- 
federates received reinforcements, and there was danger that Grant's troops 
would be cut off from the boats by which they had come. The men perceived 
the situation, and exclaimed, " We are surrounded ! " 

'• Well," was Grant's characteristic reply, "we must cut our way out, then, 
as we cut our way in." And they did. 

The autumn and winter of 1861-62 was a time of weary waiting, which 
severely tried the spirit of the nation, impatient for action. Attention was chiefly 
concentrated upon the Potomac, where McClellan was organizing and drilling 
that splendid army which another and a greater commander was to lead to final 
victory. While the only response to the people's urgent call, "On to Rich- 
mond I" was the daily report, "All quiet on the Potomac," Grant, an obscure 
and almost unknown soldier, was pushing forward against Forts Henry and 
Donelson, eleven miles apart, on the Tennesee and the Cumberland, near 
where these rivers cross the line dividing Kentucky and Tennesee. He had 
obtained from his commander, Halleck, a reluctant consent to his plan for 
attacking these important posts by a land force, co-operating at the same time 
with a fleet of gunboats under Commodore Poote. It was bitter cold. Amid 
sleet and snow the men pushed along the muddy roads, arriving at Fort Henry 
just as it was captured, after a severe bombardment, by the gunboats. Grant 
immediately turned his attention to Fort Donelson, which had been reinforced 
by a large part of the garrison which had escaped from Fort Henry. It was 
held by Generals Buckner, Floyd, and Pillow, with 20,000 men. For three 
days a fierce attack was kept up ; and Buckner, who having been at West 
Point with Grant, doubtless knew that he was "a very obstinate man," sent on 
the morning of the fourth day, under a flag of truce, to ask what terms of sur. 
render would be granted. In reply Grant sent that brief, stern message which, 
thrilled throughout the North, stirring the blood in every loyal heart : — 

'• No TERMS BUT UNCONDITIONAL AND IMMEDIATE SURRENDER CAN BE ACCEPTED. I 
PROPOSE TO MOVE IMMEDIATELY UPON YOUR WORKS." 

Buckner protested against the terms ; but he wisely accepted them, and 
surrendered unconditionally. With Fort Donelson were surrendered 15,000 
men, 3000 horses, sixty-five cannon, and a great quantity of small arms and 











o^a 


^^^^^^ 


V ^ 






1 


>'»V 


"^"^fl 


■^^g^^^^s 


ft 




^1 




^^^^^H 




Mm 


fe- 


Mm 


^^C'^^K 


^w.^^'^ .r^mmiiiiiiiBE 




DECORATION DAY, 



DARK DAYS OF i%62-63. 655 

military stores. It was the first great victory for the North, and the whole 
country was electrified. Grant's reply to Buckner became a household word, 
and the people of the North delighted to call him " Unconditional Surrender 
Grant." He was made a major-general, his commission bearing date of Feb- 
ruary 16, 1862, the day of the surrender of Fort Donelson. 

THE BATTLE OF .SHILOH. 

The next great battle fought by Grant was that of Shiloh, in Mississippi, — 
" the Waterloo of the Western campaign," as it has been called. In this battle 
Sherman was Grant's chief lieutenant, and the two men tested each other's 
qualities in the greatest trial to which either had been exposed. The battle was 
one of the turning-points of the war. The Confederates, under Albert Sidney 
Johnston, oneof their best generals, attacked the Union forces at Shiloh Church. 
All day Sunday the battle raged. The brave Johnston was killed ; but the 
Union forces were driven back, and at night their lines were a mile in the rear 
of their position in the morning. Grant came into his headquarters tent that 
evening, when, to any but the bravest and most sanguine, the battle seemed lost, 
and said : "Well, it was tough work to-day, but we will beat them out of their 
boots to-morrow." "When his staff and the generals present heard this," 
writes one of his officers, " they were as fully persuaded of the result of the 
morrow's battle as when the victory had actually been achieved." 

The next day, after dreadful fighting, the tide turned in favor of the Union 
forces. In the afternoon. Grant himself led a charge against the Confederate 
lines, under which they broke and were driven back. Night found the Union 
army in possession of the field, after one of the severest battles of the war. 

" The path to glory," says a wise Frenchman, " is not a way of flowers." 
After the battle of Shiloh, Grant was bitterly assailed as a "butcher," as "incom- 
petent," and as being a " druskard," — a charge which was utterly false. When 
President Lincoln was told that Grant "drank too much whiskey," he replied, 
with characteristic humor, that he wished he knew what brand General Grant 
used, as he would like to send some to the other Union generals. The abuse 
of which he was the object did not seem to trouble Grant. The more other 
people's tongues wagged about him, the more he held his own. 

The winter of i862-'63, the second year of the war, was full of gloom for 
the North. The Confederate cause was farther advanced than at the beginning 
of the war. Many loyal people despaired of ever saving the Union. Although 
President Lincoln himself never lost faith in the final triumph of the national 
cause, the cabinet and Congress were uneasy and anxious. The fall elections 
went against the party which advocated the carrying on of the war. Voluntary 
enlistments had ceased, and it became necessary to resort to the draft. Unless 
a great success came to restore the spirit of the North, it seemed probable that 



656 ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

the draft would be resistec^, that men would begin to desert, and that the power 
to capture and punish deserters would be lost. In a word, it seemed that a 
great success was absolutely necessary to prevent the Union army and the 
Union cause from going to pieces. It was Grant's conviction that the army 
must at all hazards '' go fonvard to a decisive victory." 

THE VICKSBURG CAMPAIGN. 

Ofi a high bluff on the east bank of the Mississippi river, which pursues a 
winding course through its fertile valley, stood the town of Vicksburg. From 
this point a railroad ran to the eastward, and from the opposite shore another 
ran westward through the rich, level country of Louisiana. The town was 
strongly fortified, andfrom its elevation it commanded the river inboth directions. 
So long as it was held by the Confederate armies, the Mississippi could not be 
opened to navigation ; and the line of railroad running east and west kept com- 
munication open between the western and eastern parts of the Confederacy. 
How to capture Vicksburg was a great problem ; but it was one which General 
Grant determined should be solved. 

For eight months Grant worked at this problem. He formed plan after 
plan, only to be forced to give them up. Sherman made a direct attack at the 
only place where it was practicable to make a landing, and failed. Weeks were 
spent in cutting a canal across the neck of a peninsula formed by a great bend 
in the river opposite Vicksburg, so as to bring the gunboats through without 
undergoing the fire of the batteries ; but a flood destroyed the work. Mean- 
while great numbers of the troops were ill with malaria or other diseases, and 
many died. There was much clamor at Washington to have Grant removed, 
but the President refused. He had faith in Grant, and determined to give him 
time to work out the great problem, — how to get below and in the rear of Vicks- 
burg, on the Mississippi river. « 

This was at last accomplished. On a dark night the gunboats were suc- 
cessfully run past the batteries, although every one of them was more or less 
damaged by the guns. The troops were marched across the peninsula, and 
then taken over the river ; and on April 30th his whole force was landed on the 
Mississippi side, on high ground, and at a point where he could reach the enemy. 

The railroad running east from Vicksburg connected it with Jackson, the 
State capital, which was an important railway centre, and from which Vicksburg 
was supplied. Grant made his movements with great rapidity. He fought in 
quick succession a series of battles by which Jackson and several other towns 
were captured ; then, turning westward, he attacked the forces of Pemberton, 
drove him back into Vicksburg, cut off his supplies and laid siege to the place. 

The eyes of the whole nation were now centred on Vicksburg. Over two 
hundred guns were brought to bear upon the place, besides the batteries of the 



SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG. 657 

gunboats. In default of mortars, guns were improvised by boring out tough 
logs, strongly bound with iron bands, which did good service. The people of 
Vicksburg lived in cellars and caves to escape the shot and shell. Food of all 
kinds became very scarce ; flour was sold at five dollars a pound, molasses at 
twelve dollars a o-allon. The endurance and devotion of the inhabitants were 
wonderful. But the siege was so rigidly and relentlessly maintained that there 
could be but one end. On July 3d, at ten o'clock, flags of truce were displayed 
on the works, and General Pemberton sent a message to Grant asking for .an 
armistice, and proposing that commissioners be appointed to arrange terms of 
capitulation. 

On the afternoon of the same day, Grant and Pemberton met under an oak 
between the lines of the two armies and arrancred the terms of surrender. It 
took three hours for the Confederate armv to march out and stack their arms. 
There were surrendered 31,000 men, 250 cannon, and a great quantity of arms 
and munitions of war. But the moral advantage to the Union cause was far 
beyond any material gain. The fall of Vicksburg carried with it Port Hudson, 
a few miles below, which surrendered to Banks a few days later, and at last the 
great river was open from St. Louis to the sea. 

The news of this great victory came to the North on the same day with that 
of Gettysburg, July 4, 1863. The rejoicing over the great triumph is indescri- 
bable. A heavy load was lifted from the minds of the President and cabinet. 
The North took heart, and resolved again to prosecute the war with energy. 
The name of Grant was on every tongue. It was everywhere felt that he was 
the foremost man of the campaign. He was at once made a major-general in 
the regular army, and a gold medal was awarded him by Congress. 

Early in .September, 1863, General Grant paid a visit to General Banks, in 
New Orleans, and while there had a narrow escape from death. Riding one day 
in the suburbs, his horse took fright at a locomotive, and came in collision with a 
carriage, throwing himself down and falling on his rider. From this severe fall 
Grant was confined to his bed for several weeks. On his return to Vicksburg, 
he was allowed but a brief period to rest and recover from his accident. He was 
invested with the command of the consolidated Departments of the South and 
West, as the Military Division of the Mississippi, and at once moved to Eastern 
Tennessee. 

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN AND MISSIONARY RIDGE. 

The town of Chattanooga, an important railway centre, lies in the beauti' 
ful valley of the Tennessee river, near where it crosses the line into Alabama. 
Directly south the front of Lookout Mountain rises abruptly to a height of two 
thousand feet above the sea level, affording a mao^nificent view which extends 
into six different States, and of the Tennessee river for thirty miles of its wind- 
ing course. Two miles to the east, running from north to south, is the crest of 



658 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 



Missionary Ridge, five hundred feet high, — the site of schools and churches 
established long ago by Catholic missionaries among the Cherokee Indians. 
Both Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge were occupied by the army of 
General Bragg, and his commanding position, strengthened by fortifications, 
was considered impregnable. 

The disastrous battle of Chickamauga, in September, 1863, had left the 
Union armies in East Tennessee in a perilous situation. General Thomas, in 
Chattanooga, was hemmed in by the Confederate forces, and his men and horses 
were almost starving. The army was on quarter rations. Ammunition was 
almost exhausted, and the troops were short of clothing. Thousands of army 
mules, worn out and starved, lay dead along the miry roads. Chattanooga, 



t-^.-.-'-Mi'jw . 




UNITED STATES MINT, NEW ORLEANS. 



occupied by the Union army, was too strongly fortified for Bragg to take it by 
storm, but every day shells from his batteries upon the heights were thrown 
into the town. This was the situation when Grant, stiff and sore from his 
accident, arrived at Nashville, on his way to direct the campaign in East Ten- 
nessee. 

" Hold Chattanooga at all hazards. I will be there as soon as possible," he 
telegraphed from Nashville to General Thomas. " We will hold the town until 
we starve," was the brave reply. 

Grant's movements were rapid and decisive. He ordered the troops con- 
centrated at Chattanooga ; he fought a battle at Wauhatchie, in Lookout Valley, 



COMMANDER OF ALL THE ARMIES. 659 

which broke Bragg's hold on the river below Chattanooga and shortened the 
Union line of supplies; and by his prompt and vigorous preparation for effec- 
tive action he soon had his troops lifted out of the demoralized condition in 
which they had sunk after the defeat of Chickamauga. One month after his 
arrival were fought the memorable battles of Lookout Mountain and Missionary 
Ridge, by which the Confederate troops were driven out of Tennessee, their 
hold on the country broken up, and a large number of prisoners and "-uns 
captured. Nothing in the history of war is more inspiring than the impetuous 
bravery with which the Union troops fought their way up the steep mountain 
sides, bristling with cannon, and drove the Confederate troops out of their works 
at the point of the bayonet. An officer of General Bragg's staff afterward 
declared that they considered their position perfectly impregnable, and that 
when they saw the Union troops, after capturing their rifle-pits at the base, 
coming up the craggy mountain toward their headquarters, they could scarcely 

t credit their eyes, and thought that every man of them must be drunk. History 
has no parallel for sublimity and picturesqueness of effect, while the conse- 
quences, which were the division of the Confederacy in the East, were inesti- 
mable. 
After Grant's success in Tennessee, the popular demand that he should be 
put at the head of all the armies became irresistible. In Virginia the magnifi- 
cent Army of the Potomac, after two years of fighting, had been barely able to 
turn back from the North the tide of Confederate invasion, and was apparently 
■ as far as ever from capturing Richmond. In the West, on the other hand, 
Grant's campaigns had won victory after victory, had driven the opposing forces 

^out of Missouri, Arkansas, Kentucky, and Tennessee, had taken Vicksburg, 
opened up the Mississippi, and divided the Confederacy in both the West and 
Ithe East. In response to the call for Grant, Congress revived the grade of 
lieutenant-general, which had been held by only one commander, Scott, since the 
time of Washington ; and the hero of Fort Donelson, Vicksburg, and Chatta- 
nooga was nominated by the President, confirmed by the Senate, and placed in 
command of all the armies of the nation. 

The relief of President Lincoln at having such a man in command was very 
great. " Grant is the first general I've had," he remarked to a friend. " You 
know how it has been with all the rest. As soon as I put a man in command 
of the army, he would come to me with a plan, and about as much as say, 

i' Now, I don't believe I can do it, but if you say so I'll try it on,' and so put the 
responsibility of success or failure upon me. They all wanted me to be the 
general. Now, it isn't so with Grant. He hasn't told me what his plans are. I 
don't know, and I don't want to know. I am glad to find a man who can go 
ahead without me. 
^ "When any of the rest set out on a campaign," added the President, "they 



66o 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 



would look over matters and pick out some one thing they were short of, and 
which they knew I couldn't give them, and tell me they couldn't hope to win 
unless they had it ; and it was most generally cavalry. Now, when Grant took 
hold, I was waiting to see what his pet 
impossibility would be, and I reckoned 
it would be cavalry, of course, for we 
hadn't enough horses to mount what 
men we had. There 
were fifteen thousand 
men up near Harp- 
er's Ferry, and no 
horses to put them 
on. Well, the other 
day Grant sends to 
me about those very 
men, just as I ex- 




pected ; but what he 

wanted to know was 

whether he could 

make infantr)^ of 

them or disband them. He doesn't 

ask impossibilities of me, and he's 

the first general I've had that 

didn't." 

With the army thoroughly 
reorganized, Grant crossed the 
Rapidan on the 4th of May ; on 
the 5th and 6th crippled the prin- 
cipal Confederate army, com- 
manded by Lee, in the terrible 
battles of the Wilderness ; flanked 
him on the left ; fought at Spott- 
sylvania Court House on the 7th, again on the loth, and still again on the 12th 
on which last occasion he captured a whole division of the Confederate army. 
Thus during the summer of 1864 he kept up an unceasing warfare, ever pursu- 
ing the offensive, and daily drawing nearer to the rebel capital, until at last he 
drove the enemy within the defenses of Richmond. 



MOIST WEATHER AT THE FRONT. 



THE VIRGINIA CAMPAIGN. 66i 

Never was the persistent courage, the determined purpose which was the 
foundation of Grant's character, more clearly brought out than in the Virginia 
campaign of 1864 ; and never was it more needed. Well did he know that no 
single triumph, however brilliant, would win. He saw plainly that nothing but 
" hammering away " would avail. The stone wall of the Confederacy had too 
broad and firm a base to be suddenly overturned ; it had to be slowly reduced 
to powder. 

During the anxious days which followed the battle of the Wilderness, Frank 
B. Carpenter, the artist, relates that he asked President Lincoln, " How does 
Grant impress you as compared with other generals ?" 

" The great thing about him," said the President, " is cool persistency of 
purpose. He is not easily excited, and he has the grip of a bull-dog. Wheti 
he once gets his teeth in, nothing can shake him off." 

His great opponent, Lee, saw and felt that same quality. When, after 
days of indecisive battle, the fighting in the Wilderness came to a pause, it was 
believed in the Confederate lines that the Union troops were falling back. 
General Gordon said to Lee, — 

" I think there is no doubt that Grant is retreating." 

The Confederate chief knew better. He shook his head. 

" You are mistaken," he replied earnestly, — "quite mistaken. Grant is not 
retreating ; he is not a ret}- eating man." 

Spottsylvania followed, then North Anna, Cold Harbor and Chickahominy. 
Then Grant changed his base to the James river, and attacked Petersburg. 
Slowly but surely the Union lines closed in. " Falling back " on the Union side 
had gone out of fashion. South or North, all could see that now a steady, re- 
sistless force was back of the Union armies, pushing them ever on toward Rich- 
mond. 

Grant's losses in the final campaign were heavy, but Lee's slender resources 
were wrecked in a much more serious proportion ; and for the Confederates no 
recrultino- was possible. Their dead, who lay so thickly beneath the fields, were 
the children of the soil, and there were none to replace them. Sometimes whole 
families had been destroyed ; but the survivors fought on. In the Confede- 
rate lines around Petersburg there was often absolute destitution. An officer 
who was there testified, shortly after the end of the struggle, that every cat and 
doo- for miles around had been caught and eaten. Grant was pressing onward ; 
Sherman's march through Georgia and the Carolinas had proved that the stone 
wall of the Confederacy was seriously shattered ; Sheridan's splendid cavalry 
was ever hovering round the last defenders of the bars and stripes. Grant saw 
that all was over, and on April 7, 1865, he wrote that memorable letter calling 
upon Lee to surrender, and bring the war to an end. 

The Virginia hamlet dignified by the name of Appomattox Court House 



663 LEE'S SURRENDER. 

comprised, in the spring of 1865, five houses, the largest of which, a brick dwell- 
ing, was the home of Wilmer McLean. In front was a pleasant yard, smiling 
with the sweet flowers of early spring. In this house, in the afternoon of the 
9th of April, General Lee and General Grant met to arrange for the surrender 
of Lee's army, which was in effect the end of the Southern Confederacy, 
"When I had left camp that morning," writes Grant, "I had not expected so 
soon the result that was then taking place, and consequently was in rough garb. 
I was without a sword, as I usually was when on horseback in the field, and 
wore a 'soldier's blouse for a coat, with shoulder-straps of my rank to indicate 
to the army who I was. When I went into the house I found General Lee. We 
greeted each other, and after shaking hands took our seats. 

" General Lee was dressed in a full uniform which was entirely new, and 
was wearing a sword of considerable value, very likely the sword which had 
been presented by the State of Virginia ; at all events, it was an entirely differ- 
ent one from the sword that would ordinarily be worn in the field. In my rough 
traveling-suit, the uniform of a private with the straps of a lieutenant-general, 
I must have contrasted very strangely with a man so handsomely dressed, six 
feet high, and of faultless form ; but this is not a matter that I thought of until 
afterward." 

The terms of surrender allowed by Grant were most generous. Officers 
and men were to be paroled. The officers were allowed to retain their side- 
arms, their baggage, and their horses ; and, with humane consideration for the 
men who had lost everything, the men were allowed to keep t. eir horses. " I 
took it," says Grant, " that most of the men were small farmers. The whole 
country had been so raided by the two armies that it was doubtful whether they 
would be able to put in a crop to carry themselves and their families through 
the next winter without the aid of the horses they were then riding. The 
United States did not want them ; and I would therefore instruct the officers 
... to let every man . . . who claimed to own a horse or mule take the 
animal to his home. Lee remarked again that this would have a happy effect." 

Grant also supplied rations from his own stores to Lee's starving army. 
For some days they had been living on parched corn. He gave them forage 
for their horses : and when the Union soldiers began firing a salute of one hun- 
dred guns to celebrate the surrender. Grant ordered the firing stopped. "The 
Confederates," he wrote, "were now our prisoners, and we did not want to exult 
over their downfall." Reading of such actions toward a conquered foe, it is not 
hard to understand why, twenty years later, the South and the North together 
read with tears the bulletins from Grant's bedside, and why the soldiers who 
fousfht ag-ainst him joined at his o-i'dve in the last tribute of love and honor. 

The rejoicing throughout the North over the surrender of Lee's army and 
the restoration of the Union was checked by the sudden blow of the assassin 



'ULYSSES S. GRANT. 



663 



of the President, which changed that rejoicing to mourning. The death of 
Lincohi left Grant the foremost American in the hearts of the people. In the 
political turmoil which followed the accession of Johnson to the Presidency, and 
in the period of " reconstruction," while much .of the South was under martial 
law, Grant, as head of the army, necessarily held a prominent place. His 
popularity increased, and his nomination for the Presidency in 1868 was a fore- 
gone conclusion. In 1872 he was re-elected, this time over Horace Greeley. 
His popularity was so general that the opposition to him was insignificant 




l.LNLKAL GRANT A.\U 1,1 llU.M.i CilA.M., \1LLKUV tif Lill.\A. 



At the close of his second term he was succeeded by Rutherford B. Hayes, who 
was declared elected by the famous Electoral Commission, after the disputed 
election of 1876. 

Grant was by nature and training a soldier, not a civil administrator ; and 
while there was much to admire in his career as President, there is also much 
that has been severely criticised. Accustomed to repose absolute confidence in 
his friends, he was deceived and made use of by adroit and unscrupulous men 



C ;- HONORS FROM ALL NATIONS. 

against whom he was powerless to defend himself. The unsettled state of the 
country after the civil war, the political and race prejudices which disturbed the 
South, the ignorance and helplessness of the freedmen, and the denial of their 
rights, all combined to make the task of government a most difficult and delicate 
one. But whether Grant's civil career be considered successful or not, it soon 
became evident that he had not lost his hold on the affectionate admiration of 
the people, and that his fame abroad was as great as at home. At the close 
of his second term, in May, 1877, he sailed from Philadelphia for a tour around 
the world, which for over two years was made one long-continued ovation, more 
like the triumphal progress of a great monarch than the journey of a private citi- 
zen. By all the great nations of Europe and Asia he was received with every 
mark of the highest honor. He was the guest of emperors, kings, and municipal- 
ities, and welcomed with tokens of good will equally by the proudest and the 
humblest of the people. Throughout Europe, Turkey, Persia, India, China, and 
Japan he journeyed, and when at last he landed at San Francisco, the demon- 
stration in his honor surpassed anything before seen on the Pacific coast. It is 
perhaps not too much to say that until their eyes were opened by his reception 
abroad, the American people did not themselves appreciate Grant's real great- 
ness and the extent of his fame. 

t;RANT's TROUBLES AND HOW HE MET THEM. 

But nothing in all his career did so much to fix Grant in the affection of the 
country as the events of the last year of his life. After his return from abroad 
he had, at the solicitation of his son, joined the firm of Ward & F"ish, in New 
York, and put all his savings into it. The business seemed to go on prosper- 
ously, — so prosperously that Grant believed himself worth a million dollars. He 
himself gave no attention to the business, confiding entirely in the active part- 
ners. A sudden and appalling exposure followed in May, 1884. One morning 
Grant went down to the office in Wall Street, and found that Ward had 
absconded, and that he and his children were utterly ruined. Only a few days 
before, Ward had induced him, to borrow one hundred thousand dollars, under 
the pretence that this sum would enable him to discharge some pressing claims 
upon a bank in which the firm had large deposits. Grant went to W. H. Yan- 
derbilt and asked for the money as a loan. Yanderbilt sat down and drew a 
check for it, and handed it to his visitor. Grant had no idea that the firm with 
which his name had been identified existed upon sheer roguery. But all the 
papers were soon full of the shameful story. The famous soldier saw but too 
clearly that he had been used as a decoy by an abominable swindler. House, 
money, books, furniture, his swords, and other presents — the money of his chil- 
dren and many of his friends — everything was gone, including, as he thought^ 
his honor. It was afterward clearly seen that he had no complicity whatever in 



I 



FINISHING HIS "JIEMOIKS." 



665 



the frauds committed by his partners, — that he was the chief of the sufferers, not 
in any way a culprit. Tlie sympatliy of the people went out to him ; once more 
he rallied from enfeebled health and a wounded spirit, and he began to believe 
that in time he might recover from this disastrous blow. 

But another great calamity was hanging over him. A few months after the 
failure of the firm, he began to complain of a pain in his throat. Gradually it 
erew worse ; and at last the dread fact could no loni/er be concealed that his 
disease was cancer. He had already begun to write his " Memoirs," urged on 
by the one hope which now remained to him — the hope of making some provi- 
sion for his family in place of that which they had lost. But the torment which 
now visited him, day and night, obliged him to stop. He could not lie down 
without bringing on fits of choking ; he would sit for hours, as General Badeau 
has said, " propped up in his chair, with his hands clasped, looking at the blank 
wall before him, silent, contemplating the future ; not alarmed, but solemn at the 
prospect of pain and disease, and only death at the end." 

Then there came a change for the better. The kindly messages which were 
sent to him from all classes of his own countrymen. North and South, and w^hich 
flowed in upon him from England — from the Queen herself — greatly cheered 
and consoled him. Again he set to work upon his book, determined to finish it 
before he died. He was further encouraged by the news that Congress had at 
last passed a bill placing him on the retired list of the army. His good name, 
he felt, was once more established. In June, 1885, he seemed to be a little 
better ; but the great heat of the city distressed him, and a villa on Mount Mac- 
gregor, near Saratoga, was offered to him by a friend. He knew that he could 
not live. But three families were dependent upon him. If he could complete his 
" Memoirs," half a million dollars would be earned for them. Again and again 
he took up pencil and paper — for he could no longer dictate — and wrote, slowly 
and laboriously, as much as he could. No murmur escaped him. Great physi- 
cal prostration, accompanied by inevitable mental depression, often assailed him, 
but he summoned all his energies, and came back from the very portals of the 
grave. That his children and grandchildren should not be left to the tender 
mercies of the world, — this was the solitary boon he craved. 

And it was granted. He had just time to write the last page, and then, on^ 
the 23d of July, the end came gently to him. With his wife and family still 
around him, he passed away as an over-wearied child might fall asleep. 

The body of the great soldier was laid at rest in Riverside Park, New York 
city, beside the Hudson river, after a funeral pageant such as had never been 
witnessed in America. The army, the navy, the militia, the soldiers of the 
Southern army, and hundreds of thousands of citizens, from the richest to the 
poorest, joined in the solemn procession, and bowed their heads around the 
tomb where his dust was laid. For weeks the whole country had eagerly 



666 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 



watched for the news from his bedside. Only four days before his death, when 
the darkness was closing in around him, he had finished his " Memoirs," under- 
taken that his debts might be paid and his loved ones provided for. Now, when 
all was over, and the memory of all the nation owed him came back, a united 
people gathered to render at his grave their tributes of love and gratitude. 

When, in 1866, the bill to revive the grade of "General of the Army of 
the United States " was before the House of Representatives, Grant's friend, 
Henry C. Deming spoke these true and fitting words : — 

" Time, it is said, devours the proudest human memorial. The impress we 
have made as a nation may be obliterated ; our grandest achievements, even 
those which we now fondly deem eternal, those which embellish the walls of that 
historic rotunda, may all drop from the memory of man Yet we shall not all 
perish. You may rest assured that three Aniericaii names will survive oblivion, 
and soar together immortal : the name of him who founded, the name of him 
who disenthralled, with the name of him who saved the republic." 














AN OLD INDIAN FARM-HOUSE. 



ROBERT E. LEE 

THE GREAT COIS/trvIANDER. OE THE COXKEDERATB 

ARMIES. 




FALL the men whose character and ability were devel- 
oped in the great civil war, there was perhaps not 
one in either the Union or the Confederate army 
whose greatness is more generally acknowledged 
than that of Robert E. Lee. His ability as a soldier 
' and his character as a man are alike appreciated ; and 
while it is natural that men of the North should be 
unable to understand his taking up arms against the 
Government, yet that has not prevented their doing full 
justice to his greatness. It is not too much to say that 
" W General Lee is recognized both North and South as one of 

the greatest soldiers, and one of the ablest and purest men, 
that America has ever produced. 

Robert Edward Lee was born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, January 
19, 1807. He was the son of the famous Revolutionary general. " Light Horse 
Harry Lee." He was graduated at West Point in 1829, and won high honor 
in the Mexican war. General Scott attributed the capture of Vera Cruz to 
his skill. For three years he was in command at the West Point Military 
Academy, where he made great improvements, and did rriuch to raise its stand- 
ing and improve its efficiency. When John Brown made his famous raid at 
Harper's Ferry, in 1859, Lee was hastily dispatched thither with a body of 
United States troops. When they arrived, Brown had entrenched himself in 
the arsenal engine-house, which Lee attacked, battered down the door, captured 
the raiders, and turned them over to the civil authorities. 

At the breaking out of the war Lee was much in doubt as to the right 
course. He disapproved of secession, but was thoroughly pervaded with the 
idea of loyalty to his State, — an idea which was almost universal in the South, 
but incomprehensible to the people of the North. He had great difficulty in 
arriving at a decision ; but when at last Virginia adopted an ordinance of seces- 
sion he resigned his commission in the United States army. Writing to his 

667 



66S ROBERT E. LEE. 

sister, he said, " Though I recognize no necessity for this state of things, and 
would have forborne and pleaded to the end for redress of grievances, yet in 
my own person I had to meet the question whether I should take part against 
my native State. With all my devotion to the Union, and the feeling of loyalty 
and duty as an American citizen, I have not been able to make up my mind to 
raise my hand against my relatives, my children, my home. I have, therefore, 
resigned my commission in the army, and, save in defence of my native State, 
... I hope I may never be called upon to draw my sword," 

lee's clear foresight. 

He was quickly called upon to "defend his native State." None real- 
ized better than he that a long and bloody war was coming, and that Virginia 
would be the chief battle-ground. General Imboden has given an interesting 
account of an interview with Lee in May, 1861, just after he was put in com- 
mand of the armies of Virginia. General Imboden had gone to Richmond to 
urge the sending of troops to Harper's Ferry. " It was Sunday," he writes, 
" and I found the General entirely alone, in a small room on Bank street, near 
the Capitol. It was the first time I had met him, and I am sure he was the 
handsomest man I had ever seen. His hair and moustache — he wore no beard 
— were only slightly silvered with gray, just enough to harmonize freely with 
his rich, ruddy complexion, a little bronzed, and to give perfect dignity to the 
expression of his grand and massive features. His manner was grave, but 
frank and cordial. He wore a simple undress military suit, without badge or 
ornament of any kind, and there was nothing in his surroundings to indicate 
high military rank. , , , 

" I rose to take my leave, when he asked me" to resume my seat, remarking 
that he wished to talk with me about the condition of the country, and the ter- 
rible storm which was so soon to burst upon it in all its fury. ... He said he 
desired to impress me . . . w-ith the gravity and danger of our situation, and 
the imperative necessity for immediate and thorough preparation for defense. 
Growing warm and earnest, he said, ' I fear our people do not yet realize 
the magnitude of the struggle they have entered upon, nor its probable dura- 
tion, and the sacrifices it will impose upon them. The United States Govern- 
ment,' he said, ' is one of the most powerful upon earth. I know the people 
and the government we have to contend with. I n a little while they will be even 
more united than we are. Their resources are almost without limit. They 
have a thoroughly organized government, commanding the respect, and, to some 
extent, the fears of the world. Their army is complete in all its details and 
appointments, and it will be commanded by the foremost soldier of the country. 
General -Scott, whose devotion to the Union cause is attested by his drawing 
his sword against his native State. They have also a navy that in a little while 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



669 



will blockade our ports and cut us off from all the world. They have nearly all 
the workshops and skilled artisans of the country, and will draw upon the 
resources of other nations to supply any deficiency they may feel. And above 
all, we shall have to fight the prejudices of the world, because of the existence 
of slavery in our country. Our enemies will have the ear of other powers, 
while we cannot be heard, and they will be shrewd enough to make the war 
appear to be merely a struggle on our part for the maintenance of slavery ; and 
we shall thus be without sympathy, and most certainly without material aid from 



\ 




A SCENK IN PRESIDENT LINCOI-NS CAHINET. 
Secretary Stanton expressing an opinion about the conduct of the war. 

other powers. To meet all this we have a government to form, an army to 
raise, organize and equip, as best we may. We are without a treasury, and 
without credit. We have no ships, few arms, and few manufacturers. Our 
people are brave and enthusiastic, and will be united in defense of a just cause. 
I believe we can succeed in establishing our independence, if the people can be 
made to comprehend at the outset that to do so they must endure a longer war 
-and far greater privations than our fathers did in the Revolution of 1 776. We 
•will not succeed until the financial power of the North is completely broken, 



670 HIS CLEAR FORESIGHT. 

and this can occur only at the end of a long and bloody war. Many of our 
people think it will soon be over, that perhaps a single campaign and one great 
battle will end it. This is a fatal error, and must be corrected, or we are 
doomed. Above all, Virginians must prepare for the worst. Our country is of 
wide extent and great natural resources, but the conflict will be mainly in Vir- 
ginia. She will become the Flanders of America before this war is over, and 
her people must be prepared for this. If they resolve at once to dedicate their 
lives and all they possess to the cause of constitutional government and South- j 
ern independence, and to suffer without yielding as no other people have been 
called upon to suffer in modern times, we shall, with the blessing of God, sue- r 
ceed in the end ; but when it will all end no man can foretell. I wish I could | 
talk to every man, woman and child in the State now, and impress them with 
these views.' 

" The prophetic forecast of General Lee became widely known, and as sub- 
sequent events verified his judgment, it aided materially in giving him that con- 
trol over the public mind of the South that enabled him often by a simple 
expression of his wishes to procure larger supplies and aid for his army than the 
most stringent acts of Congress and merciless impressment orders could obtain. 
The people came to regard him as the only man who could possibly carry us 
through the struggle successfully. The love of his troops for him knew no j 
bounds, because they had implicit faith in his ability, and knew he was a sym- 
pathizing friend in all their trials. , ... 

THE CONFEDERATE COMMANDEr's DINNER. 

" The great simplicity of his habits was another ground of popularity. He 
fared no better than his troops. Their rough, scant rations were his as well. 
There were times when for weeks our army had nothing but bread and meat to 
live on, and not enough of that. When the two armies were on the opposite 
banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of 1863-64, meat was sometimes very 
scarce in ours. Even the usual half-pound per diem ration could not always be 
issued. During one of these periods of scarcity, on a very stormy day, several 
corps and division generals were at headquarters, and were waiting for the rain 
to abate before riding to their camps, when General Lee's negro cook announced 
dinner. The General invited his visitors to dine with him. On repairing to the 
table a tray of hot corn-bread, a boiled head of cabbage seasoned with a very 
small piece of bacon, and a bucket of water constituted the repast. The piece of 
meat was so small that all politely declined taking any, expressing themselves as 
' very fond of boiled cabbage and corn-bread,' on which they dined. Of course, 
the General was too polite to eat meat in the presence of guests who had de- 
clined it. But later in the afternoon, when they had all gone, feeling very 
hungry, he called his servant and asked him to bring him a piece of bread and 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



671 



meat. The darkey looked perplexed and embarrassed, and after scratching his 
head some time said in a deprecating tone, ' Lord, Mas' Robert, dat meat what 
I sot before you at dinner warn't ours. 1 had jest borrowed dat piece of mid- 
dlln' from one of de couriers to season de cabbage in de pot, and seein' as you 
was gwine to have company at dinner, I put on de dish wid de cabbage for 
looks. But when I seed you an' none of de genelmen toche it I 'eluded you all 
knowed it was borrowed, and so after dinner I sont it back to de boy what it 
belong to. I's mighty sorry, Mas' Robert, I didn't know you wanted some, for 
den I would 'a' tuck a piece off'n it anyhow 'fore I sont it home.' " 

In the latter part of 1861, General Lee was sent to the coast of South 




LIBBV I'RISON IN It>S4, BEIUKE US REMOVAL TO CHICAGO. 



Carolina, where he planned the defenses which so long proved impregnable to 
all attacks of the Union forces, and which were held until the northward march 
of Sherman's army in 1865 compelled the evacuation of Charleston. Lee then 
returned to Virginia, and in June, 1862, he took command of the Confederate 
forces defending Richmond. On June 26th. he met McClellan at Mechanicsville 
and Gaines's Mill ; and then began that long and terrible series of batdes 
between his forces and the Army of the Potomac, which so splendidly displayed 
his magnificent abilities as a commander. In defensive warfare he w^as almost 
invincike. He defeated McClellan on the Peninsula. Burnside at Fredericks- 
burg, and Hooker at Chancellorsville. Not until Grant took command in 1864 
had a general been found who could successfully cope with Lee ; and even 



672 GETTYSBURG AND AFTER. 

Grant accomplished Lee's final defeat not so much by superior generalship as 
by steadily taking advantage of his own superior resources. 

After the great conflict at Gettysburg, in July, 1863, the great resources of 
the North, so far superior to those of the South, began to tell against the 
Confederacy. It became almost impossible to recruit the Southern armies, or 
to properly supply the men who were already in the field. Henceforth Lee's 
operations were confined to the defense of Virginia ; and it is hard to overrate 
the masterly ability with which this was done, under almost insuperable diffi- 
culties and discouragements. It was love and devotion to their commander 
which held together the armies of the Confederacy; and this, coupled with their 
confidence in his skill, long made his ragged and half-starved soldiers more 
than a match for the superior armies of McClellan and Grant. General Grant 
perceived this, and saw that it was really a question of endurance, — that the 
Confederacy could be overcome only when the resources of the South were so 
far e.xhausted that the war could no longer be carried on ; and it was with this 
idea in his mind that he took command of the Union armies in 1864. 

The battle of the Wilderness, on May 5th, was the beginning of the end. 
Spottsylvania followed, and then Cold Harbor, where the frightful losses of the 
Union armies gave terrible proof of Lee's ability to take swift advantage of the 
least mistake of his antagonist. Then came the siege of Petersburg, and after 
a spring and summer of persistent fighting, Lee seemed as able as ever to keep 
the Union armies at bay. But, as Grant had foreseen, the struggle had told 
heavily upon his resources ; and when the triumphant march of Sherman through 
Georgia had exposed the hopelessly exhausted condition of the South, the end 
of the struggle was seen to be approaching. 

The deprivation and poverty in Virginia in the last year of the war were 
extreme. The railroad communications of Richmond being often destroyed by 
the Union cavalry, it was impossible to keep the city supplied, and many of the 
people were on the verge of starvation. Pea soup and bread were the food of 
large numbers. Confederate money had so depreciated that it was often said 
that it took a basketful to go to market. A barrel of flour cost several hundred 
dollars. Boots were four and five hundred dollars a pair. 

Still Lee held out, and in the spring of 1865 maintained with persistent 
skill and courage the hopeless defense of Richmond ; but his army was melting 
away ; it was impossible to supply them even with food ; the men themselves 
saw that further conflict was a useless sacrifice, and were ready to accept the 
result which came at Appomattox Court House on April 9, 1865. 

The universal affection and respect which the people of the South felt for 
General Lee was, if possible, increased after the close of the war. The confis- 
cation of his property had rendered him homeless. The people of Virginia 
offered him homes almost without number, and relatives also who lived in Eng- 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



673 






land were desirous that he should take up his abode there; but General Lee 
would not consent to be separated from the country he loved. He was deeply 
attached to the people of the South, as they to him ; and of the many homes 

offered him,he chose 
one in Powhatan 
County, a small and 
simple country place 
where he gathered 
his wife and children 
around him, expect- 
inor to lead a retired 
and quiet life. He 
was also offered 
many positions, in 
which he would re- 
ceive a liberal salary 
for little or no labor 
but these his pride 
would not permit 
him to accept. Final- 
ly a proposition was 
made by the trustees 
of Washington Col- 
lege that he should 
become president of 
that institution. This 
offer, much to the 
gratification of his 
friends,he concluded 
to accept, believing 
as he said, that he 
could beof influence 
and use in that posi- 
tion. This expecta- 
tion was not disap- 
pointed. TheUniver- 
sity quickly became 

one of the most popular educational institutions of the South, which was no 
doubt largely in consequence of the fact that he was at the head of it. The 
number of students increased ten-fold within a comparatively short time after 

General Lee became its president. His wisdom and skill in managing the 
43 




GENERAL LEE TO THE REAR I 



674 



AFFECTION OF THE PEOPLE. 



Students of the University was remarkable. His appeal to the higher sentiments 
of the young men seemed never to fail of a response. They were ashamed to 
do anything less than their best when feeling that General Lee's eye was upon 
them. He was ac- 













customed to remind 
themonentering the 
college of the loving 
solicitudewith which 
their course would 
be w-atched by their 
mothers ; and this 
appeal to their high- 
est feelings seldom 
failed to have great 
effectupon theircon- 
duct and character. 
One conse- 
quence of the filial 
feelingf which the 
people of the South 
entertained for Gen- 
eral Lee was that he 
was flooded with let- 
ters upon every con- 
ceivablesubject,from 
all parts of the coun- 
try. At a time when 
he had in charge five 
hundred young men, 
with a corps of 
twenty-five instruct- 
ors under him, he 
was receiving daily 
almost innumerable 
hitters from old sol- 
diers, their widows 
or children, and from 

those who had not even this claim upon him ; many asking for money, and 
nearly all appealing for advice or assistance in some form. A friend once said 
to him, "You surely do not feel obliged to answer all of these letters?" 
" Indeed I do," he replied. " Think of the trouble that many of these poof 




LEE AND THE FERRYMAN. 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



675 



people have taken to write mc. Why should I not be willing to take the 
trouble to reply ? That is all I can give, and that I give ungrudgingly." 

In 1867, in company with his daughter Mildred, he rode on horseback to 
^ the Peaks of Otter, 






sT.-^ 






fifty miles from Lex- 
ington. At a ferry 
on the route the 
boatman chanced to 
be an old soldier. 
When the usual 
charge was ten- 
dered, the rough 
mountaineer's eyes 
filled with tears, and 
he shook his head, 
saying, " I could not 
take pay from you, 
Master Robert ; I 
have followed you 
in many a battle." 

Bitterness or re- 
sentment seemed to 
have no place in 
General Lee's na- 
ture. When the fate 
of war went against 
him, he accepted its 
result in good faith, ' 
and thenceforward 
did his best to re- 
store good feeling 
between the North 
andthe South. Even 
toward men who ex- 
hibited the most in- 
tense bitterness 
against him he 
seemed to have no other feeling than kindness and good-will. This was 
the case even with those who sought to have him tried and punished for 
treason. Durino- the war it was noticeable that he never spoke of the LTnion 
soldiers as "Yankees," the common expression in tlie Southern army. They 




LLE AND THE UNION SOLDIER. 



676 



SCENE AFTER GETTYSBURG. 



were always mentioned as "Federals," or " the enemy." He regretted and 
condemned the harsh and bitter language which characterized the Southern 
newspapers. " Is it any wonder," he said, " that Northern journals should retort 
as they do, when those in the South employ such language against them? " 



LEE .\XD THE UXION SOLDIER. 



A touching stor)', illustrating this noble trait of General Lee's character, 
was told years after the war by a Union veteran who was viewing the great 
panorama, "The Battle of Gettysburg." He said, "I was at the battle of 
Gettysburg myself I had been a most bitter anti-South man, and fought and 
cursed the Confederates desperately. I could see nothing good in any of them. 
The last day of the fight I was badly wounded. A ball shattered my left leg. 
I lay on the ground not far from Cemetery^ Ridge, and as General Lee ordered 
his retreat, he and his officers rode near me. As they came along I recognized 
him, and, though faint from exposure and loss of blood, I raised up my hands, 
looked Lee in the face, and shouted as loud as I could, ' Hurrah for the 
Union ! ' The general heard me, looked, stopped his horse, dismounted, and 
came toward me. I confess that I at first thought he meant to kill me. But as 
he came up he looked down at me with such a sad expression upon his face 
that all fear left me, and I wondered what he was about. He extended his 
hand to me, and grasping mine firmly and looking right into my eyes, said, 
' My son, I hope you will soon be well.' 

" If I live a thousand years I shall never forget the expression on General 
Lee's face. There he was, defeated, retiring from a field that had cost him and 
his cause almost their last hope, and yet he stopped to say words like those to 
a wounded soldier of the opposition who had taunted him as he passed by! 
As soon as the general had left me I cried myself to sleep there upon the 
bloody ground." 

The value of General Lee's e.xample in restoring good feeling between the 
North and South can hardly be overestimated. He was so universally looked 
up to by the Southern people that his opinions and example could not fail to 
have the greatest effect. It is no small part of his title to fame that his great 
influence should have been used as it was toward reuniting the country after 
the war, rather than in perpetuating strife and hatred. 

General Lee's domestic life was an almost ideal one. During his last years, 
his wife was an invalid, suffering from rheumatic gout, and his devotion to her 
was unfailing. Her health rendered it necessary for her to travel to the medi- 
cinal springs in different parts of \'irginia, and he used often to precede her on 
the journey, in order to have ever^'thing in readiness on her arrival. He con- 
trived an apparatus whereby she could be lowered into the baths in her chair, 
in order to avoid ascending and descending the steps. His love for his children 



ROBERT E. LEE. 



I 



677 



manifested itself in a tender and delicate courtesy which was beautiful to see 
and which was repaid on their part by the strongest attachment. 

General Lee died at Lexington, Virginia, October 12, 1870. After his 
death the name of the college over which he had presided was changed, in his 
honor, to "Washington and Lee University," and stands a worthy monument 
of the great soldier, whose noble qualities were shown as conspicuously in peace 
as in war. The issues which divided our country into hostile sections have 
happily passed away; and North and South can join in cherishing his memory 
and doing honor to his spotless fame. 



I 




MONUMENT TO GENERAL LEE, AT RICHMOND, VIRGINIA. 




JAMES A. GARFIELD, 

CITIZEN, sxatesm:.a.x, president. 

URING the long, sultry days of the summer of 1881, at 
almost every newspaper and telegraph office stood a group 
of people, which sometimes swelled into a great crowd, 
watching eagerly for the slips of paper which Irom time to 
time were posted m ^ conspicuous place on the front of 
the building. In the intervals they would gather in little 
knots and talk together in low tones. To one who did 
not know what had happened on July 2d, it would have 
een hard to guess what gathered these waiting crowds, day 
after day, throughout the land. With intense, foreboding 
sense fifty millions of people were watching for the news from 
the bedside of the President of the United States, who had been 
stricken down by the bullet of an assassin. Who that lived through that long 
summer can forget those anxious days and nights i* And when at last the brave 
struofg-le for life was ended, and the silent form was borne from the seaside to 
rest on the shores of Lake Erie, who can foreet the solemn hush which seemed 
to prevail e\'ery where as the tomb opened to receive all that was mortal of the 
beloved President, James A. Garfield ? 

To some not well acquainted with Garfield's history, it may seem that the 
tragic and pathetic circumstances of his illness and death were the chief cause 
of the universal love and grief which were manifested for him ; but a study of 
his life will correct this impression. Few public men of our time have had a 
career which was so gradual and steady a growth ; and few indeed attain to the 
full, ripe, well-rounded completeness which made him a really great statesman. 
Steadily, inch by inch, he had worked his way up, never falling back, until the 
topmost round of the ladder was reached ; and never was success more fully 
deserved or more bravely won. 

James Abram Garfield was born in Cuyahoga county, Ohio, on November 

19, 1831. He was but two years old when his father died suddenly, leaving 

his mother with four children, and her only source of support a small farm, 

encumbered by debt, in the half-cleared forests of northern Ohio. She woiked 

67S 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



679 



early and late, the children helping her. James had "not a lazy bone in his 
body," When hardly more than a baby, he picked cherries, planted corn, 
gathered vegetables, and helped in a hundred ways. He early developed a 
great aptitude for the use of tools, and as he grew up made an excellent car- 
penter. There was hardly a barn, shed, or building of any kind put up in the 
neighborhood but bore the marks of his skill. The money earned b)' the use 
of his tools in summer helped to pay for his schooling in the winter. 

James early developed a great love for books. Stories of batde, tales of 
adventure, the lives of great men, all such were irresistibly fascinating to him. 
Two books, Weems's " Life of Marion" and Grimshaw's "Napoleon," stirred 




THE HOME OF GARFIELD S CHILDHOOD. 



in him a great desire for the military career on which he entered with so much 
promise in later life ; and stories of the sea at last aroused an irresistible long- 
ing for a sailor's life. He went to Cleveland and tried to secure employment 
on one of the lake vessels, but was unsuccessful. The only opening in the line 
of maritime commerce was on the Ohio and Pennsylvania canal, and James 
accepted the position of driver, at twelve dollars a month. .Such was his 
capacity and attention to duty that in the first round trip he had learned all 
there was to be learned on the tow-path. He was promptly promoted from 
driver to bowsman, and accorded the proud privilege of steering the boat 
instead of steering the mules. 



6So 



LIFE ON THE CANAL. 



During his first trip he fell overboard fourteen times, by actual count. In 
this way he contracted malaria, which long remained with him. He could not 
swim a stroke. One dark, rainy night he again fell into the canal, when no help 
was at hand, and was saved as by a miracle, the rope at which he caught " kink- 
ing" and holding fast while he drew himself on deck. Believing that he was 
providentially saved for something better than steering a canal-boat, he returned 
home, resolved to obtain an education and make a man of himself. 



EARNING AX EDUCATION. 



In the winter of 1849 he attended Geauga Seminary, where he and three 
other young men " boarded themselves," living on about fifty cents a week each 




GARFIELD ON THE TOW-PATH. 



Here he met a quiet, studious girl, Lucretia Rudolph, the daughter of a Alary- 
land farmer, who afterward became his wife. He was an intense student. He 
had an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and would make any sacrifice to 
obtain it. At the close of the session he worked through the vacation, and 
also taught a country school, to earn money for the following winter. He was 
a capital teacher. He stirred a new life and ambition in his scholars, and 
roused in them an enthusiasm almost equal to his own. 

In August, 185 1, Garfield entered a new school established at Hiram, 
Portage county, by the religious society to which he belonged, the Disciples 
of Christ, or " Campbellites." Here he resolved to prepare himself for college. 
He lived in a room with four other pupils, and studied harder than ever. When 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



08 1 



he went to Hiram he had studied Latin only six weeks, and just begun Greek; 
and was, therefore, just in a condition to fairly begin the four years' preparatory 
course ordinarily taken by students to enter college in the freshman class. 
Yet in three years' time he fitted himself to enter theyww/^r class, and at the 
same time earned his own living, thus crowding six years' study into three; and 
teaching for support at the same time. After some debate he resolved to go to 
Williams College, in Berkshire, Massachusetts, and entered there in 1854. 

Study at Williams was easy for Garfield. He had been used to much 
harder work at Hiram. His lessons were always perfectly learned. One of 

the professors called him " the boy 
who never flunked," and he did 
much extra reading and studying. 

In the summer of 1856, after 
only two years of study, Garfield 
graduated at W^illiams College, and 
returned to his Ohio home. In the 
autunm he entered Hiram College 
as a teacher of ancient languages 
and literature. The next year, at 
the age of twenty-six, he was made 
president of the institution. This 
office he held for five years. Under 
his management the attendance was 
doubled ; he raised the standard of 
scholarship, strengthened its faculty* 
and inspired everybody connected 
with it with something of his own 
zeal and enthusiasm. In 1S58 he 
married his old schoolmate, Miss 
Rudolph, and they began life in a little cottage fronting on the grounds of the 
college. 

Garfield's political career may be said to have fairly begun in the campaign 
of 1857-58, when he made a number of political speeches. In 1859 he was 
elected to the State Senate of Ohio, and became a noted member of that body. 
When the war broke out in 1S61, and President Lincoln issued his call for 
75,000 men, Garfield moved in the Ohio Senate to make 20,000 troops and 
$3,000,000 the quota of the State. In August Governor Dennison, the famous 
" war o-overnor" of Ohio, offered him the lieutenant-colonelcy of the 42d Ohio 
Regiment, which was then being organized. Most of the regiment were old 
students of Hiram College, so that he would be surrounded in the field by the 
same faces among whom he had taught. He soon decided to accept the 




nAKFIELD AT THE .■VGE OF SIXTEEN. 



682 



THE KENTUCKY CAMPAIGN. 



commission. His way of proceeding to drill his company was characteristic of 
the teacher as well as the soldier. He made soldiery of wooden blocks, fash- 
ioned in different forms to represent the oi^cers, and with these blocks he car- 
ried on with his subordinates games of military tactics, until, when the regiment 
was ready to go into service, it was pronounced one of the most thoroughly 
drilled in the whole army. 

FIGHTING IN KENTUCKY. 

In December of 1861, Garfield's regiment was ordered into service in 
Kentucky and West Virginia. At that time the destiny of Kentucky was still 
in doubt. Though much attached to the Union, it was a slave State, and strong 




HIRAM COLLEGE. 



influences were at work to draw it within the vortex of secession. Two Confed- 
erate armies were marching northward through the State, one under Zolli- 
koffer and the other under Humphrey Marshall. Garfield was dispatched 
against Marshall's forces. He met them on the banks of Middle Creek, a 
narrow and rapid stream, flowing into the Big Sandy, through the sharp spurs 
of the Cumberland Mountains. His force amounted to only iioo men ; they 
met at least 5000, and defeated them. Marshall's force was driven from 
Kentucky, and made no further attempt to occupy the Sandy Valley. This 
campaign was conducted under the greatest possible difficulties, and it has 
received the highest praise from military critics. 

After his success in Kentucky, Garfield was sent with his regiment to join 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 683 

Grant in Mississippi. He arrived, with the other forces under Buell, just in time 
to help in the second day's battle at Shiloh, and to turn the tide in favor of the 
Union army. After this battle he was for some time employed in rebuilding 
railroads and bridges. In midsummer, however, he was obliged to return home 
on sick-leave. As soon as he recovered, he was ordered to join General Rose- 
crans, then in command of the Army of the Cumberland. He was made the 
commander's chief-of-staff, and acted in this position during the following year. 

On September 19, 1S63, was fought the great battle of Chickamauga, which 
but for the bravery and steadiness of General Thomas would probably have 
resulted in the destruction of the Union army. Rosecrans, accompanied by his 
chief-of-staff, had left the battle-field, and gone hastily to Chattanooga, to provide 
for the retreat which he then thought inevitable. On reaching Chattanooga, 
Garfield, at his urgent request, was permitted to return to the battle-field, where 
he found Thomas still ensfag^ed in resistinof the attack of the Confederate forces. 
Immediately after his arrival a fresh assault was made, lasting half an hour, when 
the Confederates finally broke and abandoned the attack. Garfield remained 
on the field with General Thomas until night, and accompanied him in his retreat 
to Chattanooga. 

Soon after the battle of Chickamauga Garfield was nominated for Congress 
from the Northern District of Ohio. Almost at the same time he received his 
promotion to the grade of major-general for his gallant services in the Chatta- 
nooga campaign. His salary as major-general would be more than double that 
which he would receive as Congressman ; but he was convinced that he could 
do the country more service in the latter position, and accordingly took his place 
in Congress, where he remained until, sixteen years later, he was nominated for 
President. 

Garfield's career in Congress was one of steady advancement. At its 
beginning he was noted as an efficient and original public man. He was 
exceedingly industrious and attentive to legislative business, and the measures 
which he originated and advocated in Congress gave him a wide and lasting 
reputation. In his second term, during the latter part of tlie war, his financial 
ability had become so apparent that the Secretary of the Treasury requested 
the Speaker to make him a member of the Ways and Means Committee, that 
the country might have the benefit of his ability and experience. Throughout 
his whole term of service, his influence steadily increased, and when in 1877 Mr. 
Blaine was transferred from the House to the Senate, Garfield was by common 
consent made the leader of the Republican party in the House. 

In 1880 Garfield was nominated and elected United States Senator by the 
Ohio Legislature, and on June loth of the same year he was nominated at 
Chicago for the Presidency. 

The meeting of the Republican National Convention in Chicago, in June, 



684 



THE CHICAGO CONVENTION. 



1880, was one of the most memorable in the history of the party. The popu- 
larity of General Grant had been immensely increased by the honors showered 
upon him by all nations in his trip around the world, from which he had recently 
returned ; and his powerful supporters, Conkling, of New York, Cameron, of 
Pennsylvania, and Logan, of Illinois, were bent upon nominating him for a third 
term. His great rival was James G. Blaine, whose popularity was almost as 
great as that of Grant ; and Senators Sherman and Edmunds were also strongly 
supported, especially by those who disliked the "third term" idea. Garfield 
was himself a delegate from Ohio. Sherman was the man of his choice, and he 
worked with all his might to secure his nomination. 

For a full week the convention continued in session. Thirty-five ballots 
were cast without a majority for any one 
of the candidates. On the mornincr of 
the last day the thirtieth ballot resulted 
in 306 votes for Grant; 279 for Blaine; 
120 for Sherman ; 33 for Washburne ; 11 
for Edmunds ; 4 for Windom ; and 2 for 
Garfield. Nothing could chanije the vote 
of Grant's famous "306;" but neither 
could the best efforts of his friends in- 
crease the ranks of that faithful band ; and 
378 was the number required for a nomi- 
nation. It became evident ^Iso that Blaine 
could not be nominated, although his sup- 
porters were almost as steady as those 
of Grant. His vote, which on the first 
ballot was 284, remained nearly the same 
until the last day. Evidently the vote of 
those opposed to Grant must be massed 
upon some other candidate. Who that 

candidate was did not appear until the thirty-fourth ballot, when i 7 votes were 
cast for Garfield. As soon as this result was announced, the end of the long 
struggle was foreseen. On the next ballot his vote increased to 50, and on the 
thirty-sixth and last, nearly all the delegates except Grant's immovable 306 
came over to Garfield with a rush. He received 399 votes, which made him 
the choice of the convention for President. 

Garfield's opponent in the canvass was General Winfield S. Hancock, one 
of the bravest soldiers of the civil war, who had been wounded at the great 
battle of Gettysburg. The tariff question was the chief issue of the campaign ; 
and on this and similar questions of national policy Garfield was admirably 
equipped and perfectly at home; while to General Hancock, whose training 




HON. JOHN SHERMAN. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



685 



was altogether that of a soldier, they were new and unfamiliar. After an active 
and ably-fought contest, Garfield was elected by a vote of 214, to 155 for his 
competitor. 

Garfield's administration began with war,— political war, — war with the 
elements in his own party which had supported Grant at the Chicago conven- 
tion, and which now transferred the contest to the Senate. So peculiar was this 
well-remembered struggle, and so far-reaching in its effects, that the story de- 
serves to be brierty told. 

The very first question that met Garfield on his accession was that of 

appointments. Mr. Conkling, the 
senior senator from New York, 
had been the chief and most 
determined advocate of Grant's 
nomination. By the practice 
known as the "courtesy of the 
Senate," it was customary for 
that body to decline to confirm 
nominations made by the Presi- 
dent to ofifices in any State 
which were distasteful to the 
senators from that State. In 
making nominations for New 
York offices the President had in 
most cases named men unobjec- 
tionable to Senator Conkline ; 
but following these was one of 
William H. Robertson to be col- 
lector of customs at New York, 
which was especially obnoxious 
to him. Judge Robertson had 
been one of the New York dele- 
gates to the Chicago convention, and had led in organizing the final " bolt " to 
Garfield. An effort was made to get the President to withdraw this nomina- 
tion ; but he declined. Mr. Conkling then brought about an arrangement with 
the Democratic senators by which all nominations opposed by a senator from 
the nominee's State should "lie- over" without action, but others should be 
confirmed. The effect of this was to force Mr. Robertson's nomination to eo 
over until the following December. With this result Mr. Conkling was highly 
pleased, for he had succeeded in driving the senators into a support of him 
without making an open rupture between them and the President. Mr. Conk- 
ling, it seemed that night, had the best of it. 




1'HII,1F H. SHERIDAN. 



686 THE ASSASSINATION. 

The President, however, was not yet beaten. With magnificent pluck, that 
was hailed by the people everywhere with applause, he dealt Mr. Conkling a 
fatal blow. The next morning, May 5th, all the nominations that were pleasing 
to Mr. Conkling were withdrawn ; that of Judge Robertson was not. This 
defined the issue sharply, and obliged senators to choose between the President 
and the New York senator. They declined to follow Mr. Conkling, and Rob- 
ertson's nomination was confirmed. Then Mr. Conkling and his colleague, 
Mr. Piatt, in the most sensational manner resigned their seats in the Senate, 
evidently believing that they would be promptly re-elected, and thus secure a 
"vindication " of their course from their own State. 

But they reckoned without their host. The fight was now transferred to 
Albany ; but Mr. Conkling's power over the New York Legislature was gone. 
Public opinion sustained the President. The two senators resorted to every 
expedient known to politics to secure their re-election, but their efforts were in 
vain ; Messrs. Miller and Lapham were chosen to fill the vacant seats, and the 
two ex-senators were allowed to remain in private life. But before this result 
was reached, and while the ignoble struggle was still going on in the New York 
Legislature, the great tragedy occurred which plunged the whole country into 
deep sorrow. 

THE TRAGEDY OF 1 88 1. 

Saturday, July 2, 1881, was a fair, hot midsummer day. The inmates of 
the White House were astir early. The President was going to Massachusetts 
to attend the commencement exercises at his old college at Williamstown, and 
afterward to take a holiday jaunt through New England, accompanied by several 
members of the Cabinet and other friends. His wife, who was at Long Branch, 
New Jersey, just recovering from a severe attack of malarial fever, was to join 
him at New York. He had looked forward with almost boyish delight to his 
trip, and was in high spirits as he and Secretary Blaine drove off to the railway 
station. 

There was no crowd about. Most of those who were to take the train had 
already gone on board. Among the few persons in the waiting-room was a 
slender, middle-aged man, who walked up and down rather nervously, occasion- 
ally looking out of the door as if expecting some one. There was nothing 
about him to attract special notice, and no one paid much attention to him. 
When President Garfield and Mr. Blaine entered, he drew back, took a heavy 
revolver from his pocket, and, taking deliberate aim, fired. The ball struck the 
President on the shoulder. He turned, surprised, to see who had shot him. 
The assassin recocked his revolver and fired again, and then turned to flee. 
The President fell to the floor, the blood gushing from a wound in his side. 

In a moment all was confusion and horror. Secretary Blaine sprang after 
ihe assassin, but, seeing that he was caught, turned again to the President. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



68 7 



The shock had been great, and he was very pale. A mattress was brought, his 
tall form was lifted tenderly into an ambulance, and he was swiftly borne to the 
Executive Mansion. His first thought was for his wife — the beloved wife of his 
youth, just recovering from sickness, expecting in a few hours to meet him. 
How would she bear the tidings of this blow ? 

" Rockwell," he said, faintly, to a friend, " I want you to send a message to 
' Crete ' " (the pet name for his wife, Lucretia). " Tell her I am seriously hurt — 
how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me 
soon. I send my love to her." During the dictation of the dispatch. Dr. Bliss 

a n d several 
other physi- 
cians arrived. 
A hasty in- 
spection de- 
monstrated 
that the Presi- 
dent was ter- 
riblywounded. 
A swift 
train brought 
Mrs. Garfield 
to her h u s - 
band's side 
that eveninof. 
The persons 
present in the 
sick-room r e - 
tired to allow 
Mrs. Garfield 
to meet her 
husband alone 

as he had requested. They remained together only five minutes ; but the 
effect of this brief interview was soon seen in the rallying of the almost clying 
man. At the end of that time the doctors were again admitted, and then 
began the long struggle for life, with its fluctuations between hope and dread, 
which lasted for almost three months. Just after Mrs. Garfield's arrival 
there was a sudden collapse which seemed to be the end, and the family of the 
President were hastily summoned to his bedside ; but to the surprise of every- 
one, the crisis passed, and for three weeks he seemed to improve. Then came 
a turn for the worse, and from that time the President lost ground. The hot 
summer days, hard to bear even for those in full health, wasted and weakened 




ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDKNT GARFIELD. 

James A. Garfield was the twentieth Presideut and was shot, as he was ab'>iit to lake the train at 

Wishin^tou, July 2, iSSi , by a man who was disappointed in n jt t>b',aiiiin ; offi :c. 



688 THE FUNERAL TRAIN. 

him terribly. He sank steadily ; and it was seen that unless relief from the 
intense heat could be had, he would inevitably die within a few days. It was 
decided to remove him to Elberon, on the ocean shore, near Long Branch, New 
Jersey, and on September 7th, accompanied by his family and the members of 
his cabinet, he was borne by a swift special train northward to the seaside. A 
summer cottage had been offered for his use, and there for two anxious weeks 
lay the man who, it may be truly said, had become 

The pillar of a people's hope, 
The centre of a world's desire. 

The cooling breezes of the seaside brought some relief, and the chanee, no 
doubt, prolonged his life ; but it could not be saved. In the night of September 
19th, almost without warning, the end came ; the feeble flame of life, so 
anxiously watched and cherished, flickered a moment, and then went out in the 
darkness. 

The President's body was borne back to Washington, where it lay in state, 
viewed by great throngs of mourning people ; then it was taken westward to 
Cleveland, and laid in the tomb by the shores of Lake Erie, almost in sight of 
his old home. The journey was one long funeral pageant. For almost the 
entire distance the railway tracks were lined with crowds of people, who, with 
uncovered heads, stood in reverent silence as the train passed. Not since the 
day when that other dead President, the great Lincoln, was borne to his last 
resting-place, had such an assembly been gathered ; and the love and grief 
which followed Garfield to his gfrave are the best tribute to the worth of his 
character. 

Five months later, in the hall of the House of Representatives at Washing- 
ton, amid such a throng as that chamber has seldom seen, Secretary Blaine 
delivered his eulogy of the dead President ; and from that splendid and pathetic 
address we take the concluding words, which will fitly close this brief sketch : — 

"Great in life, he was surpassingly great in death. . . Through days of deadly languor, 
through weeks of agony that was not less agony because silently borne, with clear sight and calm 
courage, he looked into his open grave. What blight and ruin met his anguished eyes, whose lips 
may tell ! — what brilliant broken plans, what baffled high ambitions, what sundering of strong, warm 
manhood's friendships, what bitter rending of sweet household ties ! Behind him a proud, expect- 
ant nation, a great host of sustaining friends, a cherished and happy mother, wearing the full, rich 
honors of her early toils and tears ; the wife of his youth, whose whole hfe lay in his ; the little 
boys, not yet emerged from childhood's day of frolic ; the fair young daughter ; the sturdy sonsjust 
springing into closest companionship, claiming every day and every day rewarding a father's love 
and care ; and in his heart eager, rejoicing power to meet all demand. Before him, desolation, 
and great darkness ' And his soul was not shaken. His countrymen were thrilled with instant 
profound, and universal sympathy. Masterful in his mortal weakness, he became the centre of a 
nation's love, enshrined in the prayers of a world. But all the love and all the sympathy could not 
share with him his suffering. He trod the wine-press alone. With unfaltering front he faced death. 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 



6S9 



With unfailing tenderness he took leave of life. Above the demoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet he 
heard the voice of God. With simple resignation he bowed to the Divine decree. 

As the end drew near, his early craving for the sea returned. The stately mansion of power 
had been to him a wearisome hospital of p.ain, and he begged to be taken from its prison walls, 
from its oppressive, stifling air, from its homelessness and hopelessness. Gently, silently, the love 
of a great people bore the pale sufferer to the longed for healing of the sea, to live or die, as God 
should will, within sight of its heaving billo-.vj, within sound of its manifold voices. With wan, 
fevered face tenderly lifted to the cooling breeze, he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing 
wonders; on its fair sails, whitening in the morning light ; on its restless waves, rolling shoreward 
to break and die beneath the noonday sun ; on the red clouds of evening, arching low to the hori- 
zon ; on the serene and shining pathway of the stars. Let us think that his dying eyes read a mystic 
meaning which only the rapt and parting soul may know. l,et us believe that in the silence of the 
receding world he heard the great waves breaking on a further shore and felt already upon his 
wasted brow the breath of eternal morning. 

44 




m 



1^/<5^^ 







\\ ..SWIM,,,, y 'r-^. 



% 



.an... juLi».»M .-,1 



M 



\M. 



TABLET Wi::CK W.AS PLACED IN THE WAITINC.-ROOM OF THE 
RAILWAY STATION WHERE GARFIELD WAS SHOT. 



I 



SAMUEL F. B. MORSE 

THE irvVtjrsITOR OK THE TELEGRAPH. 

PROBABLY no other invention 
of modern times has done more to 
change the face of the world than 
the electric telegraph. The fact 
that one man in New York can 
speak to another in Texas or 
Brazil is charged with stupendous 
meaning. Through the telegraph 
the newspaper brings the whole 
earth before us at the breakfast 
table. The electric wire is like 
a nerve in the body, bringing allj 
nations into sympathetic com-j 
munication, dispelling ignorance 
and prejudice, and helping to| 
make all men brothers. To the 
inventor of this great system is 
due a debt of gratitude that can-j 
not be reckoned. 

Samuel Finley Breese Morse 
was born at Charlestown, IMassa^^ 
chusetts, on the 27th of April,! 
1 791. He exhibited an earh 
fondness for art, as well as studies of a scientific character, and while 
student at Yale College displayed an especial aptness for chemistry anc 
natural philosophy. Upon leaving college he decided to adopt the profes-, 
sion of an artist, and was sent abroad to study under the tuition of West 
and Copley and Allston. He was obliged by lack of means to return in about 
four years. His youth was spent in a struggle for success as an artist. Ir»| 
1829 he again went abroad for the purpose of completing his art studies. 
During his absence he was elected " Professor of the Literature of the Fine 

6go 




S.\MUEL F. B. MORSE. 



SAMUEL F. B. MORSE. ^91 

Arts" in the University of tlie City of New York. He set out on his return 
home to accept this professorship in the autumn of 1832, saihng from Havre 
on board the packet ship "Sully." 

Among his fellow-passengers on the " Sully " were a number of persons- 
of intelligence and culture, one of whom had recently witnessed in Paris, 
some interesting experiments with the electro-magnet, the object of which was 
to prove how readily the electric spark could be obtained from the magnet, and 
the rapidity with which it could be disseminated. To Mr. Morse the develop- 
ment of this newly-discovered property of electricity was more than interesting.. 
It showed him his true mission in life. He thought long and earnestly npon 
the subject, pacing the deck under the silent stars. He had long been con- 
vinced that electricity was to furnish the means of rapid communicatioa 
between distant points, of which the world was so much in need ; and he at 
once set to work to discover how this could be done. He succeeded so well 
that before the " Sully " reached New York he had conceived " not merely the 
idea of an electric telegraph, but of an electro-magnetic and recording tele- 
graph, substantially and essentially as it now exists," and had invented an 
alphabet of signs, the same in all important respects as that now in use. 

But though invented in 1832, it was not until 1835 that he was enabled to 
complete his first poor, rude instrument. By its aid he was able to send signals 
from a given point to the end of a wire half a mile in length, but as yet there 
was no means of receiving them back again from the other extremity. He con- 
tinued to experiment on his invention, and made several improvements in it. It 
was plain from the first that he needed a duplicate of his instrument at the other 
end of his wire, but for a long time he was unable to have one made. At length, 
he acquired the necessary funds, and in July, 1837, had a duplicate instrument con- 
structed, and thus perfected his plan. His telegraph now worked to his entire 
satisfaction, and he could easily send signals to the remote end of his line and 
receive replies in return. Having brought it to a successful completion, he ex- 
hibited it to large audiences at the University of New York, in September, 1837. 

DARK DAYS. 

He now entered upon that period of the inventor's life which has proved" 
to many so wearying and disheartening — the effort to bring his invention into 
general use. He applied to Congress in vain for aid. Considerable interest in. 
the subject was aroused in Congress and throughout the country, but he derivedi 
no benefit from it. If men spoke of his telegraph, it was only to ridicule it, or 
to express their doubts of its success. He was very poor, and, as one of his 
friends has since declared, had literally " to coin his mind for bread." His 
sturdy independence of character would not allow him to accept assistance from, 
any one, although there were friends ready and even anxious to help him. 



692 



AID FROM CONGRESS. 



Alone and manfully he fought his way through these dark days, still hopeful of 
success for his invention, and patiently seeking to improve it wherever oppor- 
tunity presented itself. At length, in 1S40, he received his long-delayed patent 
from the general government, and, encouraged by this, presented a second 
petition to Congress, asking its aid in the construction of an experimental line 
between Baltimore and Washington. He had to encounter a great degree of 
skepticism and ridicule, with many other obstacles ; but finally, on the very 
last day of the session, when he had given up all hope, a bill was passed 
appropriating thirty thousand dollars to construct the line. His dearest wish 
^avas at last realized, and the hour of his triumph was at hand. 

Work on the telegraph line was im- 
mediately begun, and carried on actively. 
At first, an insulated wire was buried 
under ground in a lead 










SHOP IN WHICH THE FIRST MORSE INSTRUMENT WAS CONSTRUCTED FOR EXHIBITION BEFORE CONGRESS 



pipe, but this failing to give satisfaction, the wire was elevated upon poles. On 
d;he 27th of May, 1844, the line was completed, and the first trial of it made in 
:the presence of the government officials and many other distinguished men. 
Professor Morse was confident of success ; but this occasion was a period of the 
;most intense anxiety to him, for he knew that his entire future was staked upon 
the result of this hour. Among the company present to witness the trial was 
;the Secretary of the Treasury, John C. Spencer. Although very much interested 
in the undertaking, he was entirely ignorant of the principles involved in it, and 
lie asked one of Professor Morse's assistants how larsre a bundle could be 



SAMUEL F. B. MORSE. 695 

sent over the wires, and if the United States mail could not be sent in the 
same way. 

When all was in readiness, Professor Morse seated himself at the instru- 
ment, and sent his first message to Baltimore. An answer was promptly- 
returned, and messages were sent and replies received with a rapidity and accu- 
racy which placed the triumph of the invention beyond the possibility of doubt. 
Congratulations were showered upon the inventor, who received them as calmly 
as he had previously borne the scoffs of many of these same men. Yet his 
heart throbbed all the while with a brilliant triumph. Fame and fortune both 
rose proudly before him. He had won a great victory and conferred a lasting 
benefit upon his race. 

The success of the experimental line brought Professor Morse numerous 
offers for the use of his invention. Telegraph companies were organized all over ■ 
the country, and the stock issued by them was taken up as fast as offered. At 
the present day, not only the United States, but the whole world, is covered with 
telegraph lines. The Morse system is adopted on the principal lines of the 
United States, on all the lines of the Eastern continent, and exclusively on all 
the continental lines of Europe, from the extreme Russian north to the Italian 
and Spanish south, eastward through the Turkish Empire, south into Egypt 
and northern Africa, and through India, Australia, and parts of China. 

The rapid growth of the telegraph interest of the United States placed 
Professor Morse in the possession of a large fortune, which was greatly increased 
by the adoption of his invention in Europe. Honors, too, were showered upon 
him from all parts of the world. In 1848, his a/ma vialcr,Ya\& College, con- 
ferred on him the complimentary degree of LL. D., and since then he has been 
made a member of nearly all the American scientific and art academies. From 
European governments and scientific and art associations he has received more 
honors than have ever fallen to the share of any other American. Almost every 
sovereign in the world has conferred upon Professor Morse some honor or title. 

In February, 1854, Mr. Cyrus W. Field, of New York, ignorant of Pro- 
fessor Morse's views upon this subject, wrote to him to ask if he considered 
the working of a cable across the Atlantic practicable. The Professor at once 
sought an interview with Mr. Field, and assured him of his entire confidence 
in the undertaking. He entered heartily into Mr. Field's scheme, and rendered 
great aid in the noble enterprise, which has been described elsewhere in these 
pages. He was present at each attempt to lay the cable, and participated in 
the final triumph by which his prediction, made twenty-three years previous, 
was verified. 

Professor Morse died in New York in xApril, 1872. 



ROBERT FULTON 

THE PIONBEK. OK STEA.M IMA-VIGATION 




tl 



T is a curious and remarkable fact in the history of invention that 

between conception and achievement lies a gulf which many 

men of the greatest genius fail to bridge. The difficulty 

commonly lies not in making the invention, but in adaptino- 

it to the conditions — in a word, in making it practical. 

Robert Fulton is distinguished as an inventor who has this 

great title to fame. He was not the inventor of steam 

navigation ; he was not even the first man to build a 

l^g^ steamboat ; but he was the man who brought steamboats 

-'^ into practical use, doing successfully the work which needed 

to be done. 

Fulton was the son of a farmer of Lancaster county, 
Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1765. He was a dull boy at study, but 
very expert at drawing, and always fond of machinery, for which he often neg- 
lected his lessons. His teacher once remonstrated with him upon his course, 
and, failing to convince him by argument, rapped him sharply over the knuckles 
with a ruler, telling him he would make\\\m do something. Looking his tutor 
sternly in the face, he replied, " Sir, I came here to have something beat into 
my brains, not into my knuckles." 

Having determined to be an artist, Fulton went to Philadelphia, where he 
formed a friendship with Franklin. His success was rapid, and when only 
twenty-one he went to England to study. There he met Watt, who had just 
produced his steam engine, which Fulton studied enthusiastically ; and he was 
persuaded to give up the profession of art and become an engineer. Con- 
vinced that the steam engine could be applied to navigation, he plunged into 
experiments, in which he was joined by Robert R. Livingston, then minister to 
France, whose daughter Harriet afterward became Fulton's wife. Several 
models made by Fulton convinced Mr. Livingston that he had overcome the 
cause of the failure of other inventors, and it was finally agreed between them 
to build a large boat for trial on the Seine. This experimental steamer was 
furnished with paddle-wheels, and was completed early in 1803. On the very 
694 



ROBERT FULTON. 695 

morning appointed for the trial, Fulton was aroused from his sleep by a mes- 
senger, who rushed into his chamber, pale and breathless, exclaiming, "Oh, sir, 
the boat has broken in pieces and gone to the bottom I " Hurrying to the spot, 
he found that the weight of the machinery had broken the boat in half and 
carried the whole structure to the bottom of the river. He at once set to work 
to raise the machinery, devoting twenty-four hours, without resting or eating, 
to the undertaking, and succeeded in doing so, but inflicted upon his constitu- 
tion a strain from which he never entirely recovered. The machinery was very 
slightly damaged, but it was necessary to rebuild the boat entirely. This was 
accomplished by July of the same year, and the boat was tried in August with 
triumphant success, in the presence of the French National Institute and a vast 
crowd of the citizens of Paris. 

This steamer was very defective, but still so great an improvement upon 
all that had preceded it, that Messrs. Fulton and Livingston determined to 
build one on a larger scale, in the waters of New York. Having resolved to 
return home, Fulton set out as soon as possible, stopping in England on his 
return, to order an engine for his boat from Watt and Boulton. Scientific men 
and amateurs all agreed in pronouncing Fulton's scheme impracticable ; but 
Fulton went on with his work, his boat attracting great attention and 
excitincr no less ridicule. The steam engine ordered from Watt and Boulton 
was received in the latter part of 1806 ; and in the following spring the boat 
was launched from the ship-yard of Charles Brown, on the East river. Fulton 
named her the " Clermont," after the country seat of his friend and partner, 
Chancellor Livingston. She was one hundred and thirty feet long, eighteen 
feet wide, and seven feet deep. The boat was completed about the last of 
August, and she was moved by her machinery from the East river into the 
Hudson, and over to the Jersey shore. This trial, brief as it was, satisfied Ful- 
ton of its success, and he announced that in a few days the steamer would sail 
from New York for Albany. 

THE TRIAL TRIP. 

Monday, September 11, 1807, the time set for sailing, came, and expecta- 
tion was at its highest. The friends of the inventor were in a state of feverish 
anxiety lest the enterprise should come to grief, and the scoffers on the wharf 
were all ready to give vent to shouts of derision. Precisely as the hour of one 
struck, the moorings were thrown off, and the " Clermont " moved slowly out 
into the stream. Volumes of smoke rushed forth from her chimney, and her 
wheels, which were uncovered, scattered the spray far behind her. The spec- 
tacle was certainly novel to the people of those days, and the crowd on the 
wharf broke into shouts of ridicule. Soon, however, the jeers grew silent, for it 
•was seen that the steamer was increasing her speed. In a little while she was 
fairly under way, and making a steady progress up the stream at the rate of 



f-gs sfjcc/-:ss of the first trip. 

five miles per hour. The incredulity of the spectators had been succeeded by 
astonishment, and now this feeling gave way to undisguised delight, and cheer 
after cheer went up from the vast throng. In a Httle while, however, the boat 
was observed to stop, and the enthusiasm at once subsided. The scoffers were 
again in their glory, and unhesitatingly pronounced the boat a failure. Their 
chagrin may be imagined when, after a short delay, the steamer once more 
proceeded on her way, and this time even more rapidly than before. Fulton 
had discovered that the paddles were too long, and took too deep a hold on the 
water, and had stopped the boat for the purpose of shortening them. 

Having remedied this defect, the " Clermont " continued her voyage during 
the rest of the day and all night, without stopping, and at one o'clock the next 
day ran alongside the landing at Clermont, the seat of Chancellor Livingston. 
She lay there until nine the ne.\t morning, when she continued her voyage 
toward Albany, reaching that city at five in the afternoon. On her return trip 
she reached New York in thirty hours running time — exactly five miles per hour. 

The river was at this time navigated entirely with sailing vessels. The sur- 
prise and dismay excited among the crews of these vessels by the appearance 
of the steamer was extreme. These simple people beheld what they supposed 
to be a huge monster, vomiting fire and smoke from its throat, lashing the water 
with its fins, and shaking the river with its roar, approaching rapidly in the face 
of both wind and tide. Some threw themselves flat on the decks of their ves- 
sels, where they remained in an agony of terror until the monster had passed, 
while others took to their boats and made for the shore in dismay, leaving their 
vessels to drift helplessly down the stream. 

The introduction of the steamboat gave a powerful impetus to the internal 
commerce of the Union. It opened to navigation many important rivers whose 
swift currents had closed them to sailing craft, and made rapid and easy com- 
munication between the most distant parts of the country practicable. The 
public soon began to appreciate this, and orders came in rapidly for steamboats 
for various parts of the country. Fulton executed these as fast as possible, 
and among the number several for boats for the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. 

Fulton followed up the " Clermont " in 1807 with a larger boat, called the 
"Car of Neptune," which was placed on the Albany route as soon as completed. 
The Legislature of New York had enacted a law, immediately upon his first 
success, giving to Livingston and himself the exclusive right to navigate the 
waters of the State by steam, for five years for every additional boat they should 
build in the State, provided the whole term should not exceed thirty years. 
In 1809 Fulton obtained his first patent from the United States, and in 181 1 
he took out a second patent. His patents were limited to the simple means of 
adapting paddle-wheels to the axle of the crank of Watt's engine. 

Meanwhile the power of the Legislature to grant the steamboat monopoly 



ROBET FULTON. 



697 



was denic;d, and a company was formed at Albany to establish another line of 
steam passage boats on the Hudson, between that city and New York. Fulton 
and his partner asked an injunction, which was refused, whereupon the State 
Legislature passed a special act confirming their monopoly. Years of litio^ation 
followed, continuing until after Fulton's death ; and, finally, the eloquence of 
Daniel Webster prevailed against the monopoly, the Supreme Court of the 
United States deciding, in the famous " steamboat case," that all navigable 
waters are under the sole jurisdiction of the United States, and free alike to all 
citizens. 

In January, 1815, Fulton was summoned to Trenton, New Jersey, asawit- 




MISSISSIPPI STEAMBOATS OK TO-DA\ . 



ness in one of the numerous suits which grew out of the efforts to break down 
his monopoly. During his examination he was very much exposed, as the hall 
of the Legislature was uncommonly cold. In returning home, he crossed the 
Hudson in an open boat, and was detained on the river several hours. This 
severe exposure brought on an attack of sickness, which for a short time con- 
fined him to his bed. The steam frigate, then almost ready for her engines, 
occasioned him great anxiety at the time, and before he had fairly recovered 
his strength he went to the shipyard to give some directions to the workmen 
employed on her, and thus exposed himself again to the inclemency of the 
weather. In a few days his indisposition prostrated him again, and growing; 
rapidly worse, he died on the 24th of February, 181 5, at the age of fifty years.. 




\ 



THOMAS A. EDISON 

AND OTHER GREAT INVEKTORS AjMD THEIR 

INVENTIOXS 



ROBABLY no man in the United States is better known 
or more universally interesting than " The Wizard of 
Menlo Park," the inventor of the electric lamp, the 
dynamo, the phonograph, the " stock ticker," the elec- 
tric pen, and the mimeograph,, and the discoverer and 
improver of innumerable things in the field of electricity. 
And yet, high as is the position that Edison has even 
now reached, he began at the very bottom. He was the 
' son of a poor man, a village jack-of-all-trades, whose home 
was at Milan, Ohio, where the boy was born in 1847. While 
he was a child the family moved to Port Huron, Michigan. 
In his whole life Thomas had but two months of regular 
schooling ; the rest of his education was given him by his mother. But he had 
a restless, inquiring mind, an insatiable appetite for knowledge. When only 
ten years old he read Gibbon and Hume, and was fascinated by books of chem- 
istry, which he pored over long before he could pronounce the names of the 
substances which he read about. 

When Edison was twelve years of age, he became a newsboy on the Grand 
Trunk Railway. With the business of selling papers and candies on the trains 
however, he still kept going his old hobby of chemistry, and established an 
amateur laboratory in one corner of the baggage-car, where he amused himself 
at leisure moments. One day, while he was absent from the car, a bottle of 
phosphorus was upset, and the car set on fire. This put an end to his chemi- 
cal experiments for a time. The baggage-master kicked his chemical apparatus 
out of the car, and Edison was obliged to set up his business in some other 
place. 

On one of his trips to Chicago, the publisher of one of the Chicago dailies 

made him a present of a lot of worn-out type, with which Edison improvised a 

printing-office, and began to publish a paper of his own, entitled T/ie Grand 

Trunk Herald, which gave such items of news as the removal of a brakeman 

698 



T/IO.UAS A. ED/SON. g^g 

or baggage-master to New York, or told how a train hand fell and hurt his leg. 
One day, during the war, he persuaded a telegraph operator at Chicago to send 
to the principal stations on the road a bulletin of the great battle of Shiloh, in 
consequence of which, when the train arrived, great crowds of people were at 
the stations, hankering after papers, which Edison sold them at an immense 
profit. This turned his attention to telegraphing, to which he soon became 
devoted. 

About this time a stroke of luck came to him in saving the child of a tele- 
graph operator from being killed by a train. The grateful father rewarded the 
boy by teaching him telegraphing. Thomas rigged up wires and batteries in 
his old home at Port Huron, and devoted all his spare hours to practice. When 
he was eighteen, he secured a position at Indianapolis, and while there he 
worked out his first invention, an automatic register for receiving messages 
and transferring them to another wire. In this rude machine was contained 
the germ of the phonograph, which he perfected years after. 

By dint of incessant practice, Edison became an extremely expert and swift 
operator ; but his usefulness was always limited by his tendency to contrive 
schemes for saving labor. On one occasion, when he was night operator, he 
was required every half hour to telegraph the word "six" to the superinten- 
dent, to show that he was awake and attending to business. The ingenious 
young man contrived a machine which did the work for him, and spent the time 
poring over his beloved chemistry. This little artifice being discovered, he lost 
his situation by his cleverness. 

The beeinnineof Edison's career as an inventor was not more successful than 
is usual. He was undoubtedly ingenious, but his ingenuity actually prevented 
him from being a good telegraph operator. After a time, however, he found 
his niche. He drifted to New York, where, after vainly endeavoring to interest 
the telegraph companies in his inventions, he established himself as an expert 
in odd jobs pertaining to telegraphing. One day the Western Union wire to 
Albany would not work. The company's regular electricians experimented for 
days, but without success, and finally, as a forlorn hope, Edison was sent for. 
He seated himself at the instrument and got connection with Albany by way of 
Pittsburgh. Then he called for the best operator at the other end of the line, 
and with him experimented for two hours with currents of different intensities. 
At the end of this time he told the officers that the trouble was at a certain point 
on the line, and what it was. They telegraphed the office nearest that point, 
giving the necessary directions, and in an hour the wire was working properly. 
This established his reputation as an expert, and he soon began to rise in this 
line of business. 

Edison's first large profits came to him from the "stock ticker," an inven- 
tion for reporting in brokers' offices the prices of stocks on the exchange, which 



700 



WORK AT MENLO PARK. 



is now in universal use. He settled himself in Newark, N. J., where he rented 
a shop and began to manufacture his machines His connection with capitalists 

led to his making a propo- 
sition to an association of 
wealthy men to experiment 
with electric lighting, they to- 
supply the capital. He re- 
moved his shop to Menlo' 
Park, a quiet and secluded 
place, where he carried on his 
experiments, which soon re- 
sulted in success This placed 







/^^ 






THE NEW YORK STOCK EXCHANGE, 



liiin in an independent position, and from 
that time to the present his success has 
been only a question of degree. 

Edison is a man of infinite pertinacity and great endurance. When he 
becomes interested in solving an important question, he is entirely oblivious of 



THOMAS A. EDISON. 701 

the passage of time and of physical needs. At one time, when his printing 
telegraph for some reason gave out and ceased to work, he worked for sixty 
hours without intermission, taking no sleep or rest, having for his only food 
crackers and cheese, at which he nibbled from time to time as he worked. At 
another time all of the electric lamps burning in Menlo Park suddenly gave out. 
The inventor was almost stunned. For five days he worked at the problem, 
giving neither himself nor his assistants any rest. At the end of that time the 
difficulty was still unsolved, and Edison went to bed sick with disappointment 
and anxiety. Ordinarily he is one of the most considerate of men, but on this 
occasion he was much surprised when, at the end of fifteen hours' incessant 
work, it was suggested that rest and refreshments were in order. Time proved 
the trouble to be in the imperfect exhaustion of the air from the globes in which 
the filament burned, and long and persevering application was required to 
devise means for more completely exhausting it. Finally this was accomplished, 
and the incandescent light became a practical success. 

Edison's mind is that of the typical inventor. He says of himself that his 
first thought on looking at any machine or contrivance whatever is to imagine 
how it could be improved. With him it is a maxim that " whatever is, is wrong," 
or at least that it might and ought to be better. This peculiarity has made him 
one of the most fertile inventors of history, but it also results in his being 
entirely wrapped up in the one absorbing pursuit. His ideal of luxury, when 
riches came to him, was not fast horses, or social enjoyment, or even distinction, 
tut a perfect workshop, which had hitherto cost so much as to be unattainable 
to him. In his laboratory he has gathered every substance known to science — 
solid, fluid, and gas. Every effort is made to have at his command all the 
known resources of scientific research. Forty-five scientific journals, in different 
languages, are received in his library, and systematically indexed as fast as 
received, so that every item of information which they contain is right at his 
hand at any moment. In such respects Edison's workshop at Menlo Park is 
unique. It is hard to conceive of a chemical or mechanical experiment for 
which he is not perfectly equipped. 

Edison says of himself that he is a poor business man. He hates routine. 
Goino- over and over again the regular round of a business system is intoler- 
able to him. Most men are creatures of habit, and need to have their daily task 
laid out for them. They want to work without thinking, ^^xson cannot. His 
thought runs away with him. This tendency of his mind is well illustrated by 
his experience in manufacturing. When he had perfected his "stock ticker," 
he took a contract to manufacture some hundreds of them at a shop at Newark, 
N. J. " I was a poor manufacturer," he declares, " because I could not let well 
enough alone. My first impulse, upon taking in my hand any machine, from 
an egg-beater to an electric motor, is to seek a way of improving it. Therefore, 



702 



OTHER GREAT INVENTORS 



as soon as I have finished a machine I am anxious to take it apart again in order 
to make an experiment. That is a costly mania for a manufacturer." 

The visitor to Edison's laboratory finds the master a rather tall, compactly- 
built man, with a somewhat boyish, clean-shaven face, which seems made prema- 
turely old by intense thought and application. Over his clothes he wears a 
blouse, which is stained with acids. " Good clothes are thrown away on me," 
he says. " I feel it is wrong to wear any, and I never put on a new suit when I 
can help it. His hands are discolored with chemicals and oil, and his hair has 
also received some touches, for he has a habit of wiping his fingers upon it. He 
is somewhat deaf, and watches his visitor's lips closely to catch Avhat he is saying. 
He is kind and genial, and patient in explanation to those of inquiring minds. 

Edison is one of the busiest men in the world. Each invention or improve- 
ment seems only to widen the field. "These are only tools," he says, "with 
which we may accomplish still greater wonders. The very fact that the nine- 
teenth century has accomplished so much in the way of invention makes it 
more than probable that the twentieth century will do far greater things." 



OTHER GREAT INVENTORS AND THEIR INVENTIONS. 

Great inventions are not necessarily large or costly. The scythe is a simple 
tool, and inexpensive; yet the practical perfecting of it by Joseph Jenks almost 
at the outset of farm-life in New England, is 
an epoch-mark in agriculture. It was the 
beginning of a new order of things. Puttino- 
curved fingers to the improved scythe-blade 
and snath furnished the American grain 
cradle, a farm-tool perfect of its kind, and 
likely to hold its place as long as grain is 
orrown on uneven ground. 

The plow supplied to the Colonial farm- 
ers was as venerable as the reaping-hook. 
It had been substantially unimproved for 
four thousand years. The moment our peo- 
ple were free to manufacture for themselves, 
they set about its improvement in form and 
material ; the very first patent granted by the 
Patent Office being for an improved plow of 

cast-iron. The best plow then in use was a rude affair, clumsily made, hard tO' 
guide, and harder to draw. Its improvement engaged the attention of many 




A COLONIAL SPINNING-WHEEL. 



OTHER GREAT INVENTORS. 



703 



inventors, notably President Jefferson, who experimented with various forms, 
and made a mathematical investigation of the shape of the mould-board, to 
determine the form best suited for the work. He was the first to discover the 
importance of straight lines from the sole to the top of the share and mould 

board. Colonel Randolph, Jefferson's 
son-in-law, " the best farmer in Virginia," 
invented a side-hill plow. Smith was the 
first to hitch two plows together ; and 
Allen, by combining a number of small 
plow-points in one implement, led the way 
to the production of the infinite variety of 
horse-hoes, cultivators, and the like. But 
Jethro Wood, of New York, probably did 
more than any other man to perfect the 
COLONIAL PLOW WITH WOODEN MOULD-BOARD, cast-iron plow, and to secure its general 

use in place of the cumbrous plows of the 
earlier days. His skill as an inventor, and his pluck as a fighter against stolid 
ignorance and prejudice, for the advancement of sensible plowing, cost him — 
what they ought to have gained for him — a fortune. The use of cast-iron 
plows had become general by 1825. 




ELI WHITNEY AND THE COTTON-GIN. 

Whitney was a New England genius, who graduated at Yale in 1792, and 
went to Georgia to teach school, living in the family of General Greene's widow,, 
Havine heard much of the slow and 
tedious work of separating the cotton 
from the seed, Whitney undertook to 
make a machine for doing the work, 
which he did in the same year, 1792. 
When it was introduced, the entire cot- 
ton crop of the country could have been 
grown on a single field of two hundred 
acres. A good day's work for a man 
was cleaning four or five pounds of lint, 
or a bale of cotton in three months. 
Whitney's gin enabled a man to do the 
same work in six days. As a conse- 
quence of the cheaper and more rapid means of preparing it with the Whitney 
gin, the cotton crop of the South rose to sudden prominence. In 1800 it was 
eighteen million pounds ; the next year, forty million. Ten years later it was 
eighty million pounds, which product was more than doubled in the next ten 




OLD STYLE PRINTING PRESS. 



704 Mccormick and evans. 

years. In 1830 it was a million bales; two millions in 1840; three in 1S51. 
and four in i860, Without it modern cotton crops of eight cr nine million bales 
would be impossible ; simply to pick the seeds out of the crop of 1S91 in the old 
way would have kept the entire working population of the United States busy 
for a solid month. 

It is sad to have to add that Whitney's invention was so extensively pirated 
that he derived but little benefit from an invention which has added almost 
untold wealth to the country and the world. 

CYRUS H. MCCORMICK AND THE REAPING-MACHINE. 

The circumstance that reaping by machinery was as old as the Christian era 
and a multitude of comparatively modern attempts had been made, particularly 
in England, to apply horse-power to the cutting of grass and grain, only added 
to the merit of inventors like Hussey and McCormick, who practically solved 
the problems involved by means so simple and efficient that they have not been 
and are likely never to be entirely displaced. Hussey 's mowing-machine of 
1833 had reciprocating knives working through slotted fingers, a feature essen- 
tial to all practical grass and grain cutters. McCormick patented a combination 
reaper and mower in 1834, which he subsequently so improved as to make it 
the necessary basis of all reapers. In competitive trials at home and abroad, 
the American mowers and reapers have never failed to demonstrate their superi- 
ority over all others. 

Their first great victory, which gave them the world-wide fame they have 
so successfully maintained, was born in London in 1851. In the competitive trial 
near Paris, in 1855, the American machine cut an acre of oats in twenty-two 
minutes; the English in sixty-six minutes; the French in seventy-two. In the 
later competition, local and international their superior efficiency has been no 
less signally manifested. 

OLIVER EVANS AND THE STEAM ENGINE. 

One of the most fertile inventors of the eighteenth century was Oliver 
Evans, who deserves immortal fame as the developer of the modern " high-pres- 
sure " or non-condensing engine, and the pioneer in improved milling machinery. 
As early as 1768 he was experimenting with steam, and was able to drive a 
small boat by means of steam and paddle-wheels. In 1786 he applied to the 
State of Pennsylvania for a patent on the application of his engine to driving 
mills, and to a steam carriage, but his petition was denied. There was then no 
national patent office for the encouragement of men of original ideas ; if there 
had been, the practical development of the steamboat and the steam-carriage 
might have been materially hastened for Evans was diverted from this line of 
work for a dozen years or more. In 1800 he returned to it, and built a novel nori- 



OTHER GREAT INVENTORS. 



705 



condensing engine, designed for application to a steam-carriage, but for financial 
reasons set to working a plaster mill. A year or two after he built an engine of 
150 horse-power for parties in New Orleans, who set it up in the boat for which 
it was intended. But a long season of low water prevented a trial of the boat, 
and wasted capital compelled the owners to take the engine out and set it to 
work in a lumber mill, where it did such good service that the steamboat pro- 
ject was abandoned. It was thus no fault of Evans that the pioneer engine, of 
the type afterward adopted for western river navigation, did not win for him 
the fame subsequently achieved by Fulton. In 1804 Evans built for Philadel- 




■NBB&*,., 



PRIMITIVE MODES OF GRINDING CORN. 



phia a steam-dredger, which, set on wheels, propelled itself along the streets to 
the river, where it was launched and the engine applied to its stern-wheel, 
when as a steamboat it was navigated about the Schuylkill. 



JACOB PERKINS AND THE NAIL MACHINE. 

The first single machine of American production to become widely famous 
was the nail machine of Jacob Perkins. Perkins was born in Newburyport, 
Massachusetts, in 1766, and patented his great machine in 1795. At that time 
nails were mostly imported, and cost twenty-five cents a pound. They were all 
hand-wrought, chiefly at chimney-corner forges, where, in New England, farmers 
45 



7o6 



PERk'INS AND HIS NAIL MACHINE. 



and lumbermen, fishermen and laborers, employed their evenings and other odd 
times in hammering nails. In Europe, more especially in the manufacturing 
districts of England, it was a common domestic industry, often employing whole 
families, but chiefly women and children, ill-paid, over-worked, and toiling under 

social conditions of the most appalling 
character. The American nail machine 
promptly displaced this domestic industry 
here, and more slowly that of Europe, by 
making it possible to use power in nail 
making, while enabling a workman to do 
in a minute the previous task of an 
hour. The price of nails was speedily 
reduced two thirds, subsequently much 
more, with an assured supply equal to 
any demand. The eat'ly cut nails were 




not so tough as the 

hand-made nails, but for 

most purposes they were 

neater and better; while any 

desired toughness was ulti- 

matelysecured by annealing, and 

by the use of steel, particularly 

steel wire. Every style of nail, from the smallest tack to the railroad spike, is 

now made by machinery, at a cost but little above that of the raw metal, the 

forms being as various as their manifold uses. The manufacture of cut 

nails has become one of the most important of the great iron industries of 

the country. 



A GREAT MODERN FLOUR MILL 



HOWE AND JEROME. 707 

ELIAS HOWE AND THE SEWING MACHINE. 

Howe was born at Spencer, Massachusetts, in 1819. While employed as 
a machinist he made many experiments and efforts to invent a sewing machine, 
and after great discouragements completed one, for which he secured a patent 
in 1846. Though the practical parent of the modern sewing machine, it was 
not in itself a successful machine, nor was Howe at first successul in enlisting 
capital to aid him in developing from it a good machine. In the course of four 
or five years the defective details were corrected or displaced by the work of 
other inventors in great numbers, who attacked the problems of the sewing 
machine as soon as their importance became generally appreciated. The Singer 
machine, which closely resembled Howe's, came into the field in 1850, and took 
the lead in sales until 1854. The Grover & Baker machine became most popu- 
lar for four or five years; then the Wheeler & Wilson for ten years. In the 
meantime, all the companies were infringing on the rights of Howe, who, after 
expensive litigation, won his case, and entered into an agreement with the great 
manufacturing companies, receiving five dollars for each machine made until 
1S60; after that, one dollar a machine. Between 1856 and 1877, over six mil- 
lion machines were sold in the United States. Though the great bulk of these 
machines are held for family use, the factory machines were estimated to give 
(the world over) employment to 20,000,000 persons, mostly women. In social, 
not less than in industrial effects the sewing machine has been simply revolu- 
tionary. 

CHAUNCEY JEROME AND AMERICAN CLOCKS. 

The pioneer in American clock-making was Eli Terry, of Plymouth, Con- 
necticut, who was also the first clock peddler in the beginning of the nineteenth 
century. As the means and methods of cutting the wooden wheels were 
improved, the clocks were greatly cheapened. Chauncey Jerome, an apprentice 
of Terry, was especially successful in reducing the cost and improving the qual- 
ity of these primitive time-keepers. In 1837, Mr. Jerome brought out the 
machine-made brass clock, which revolutionized the business of clock-making 
and sent a timepiece into every house. In 1841 he sent a cargo of Connecticut 
clocks to England, billed at so low a figure that the customs officers seized them 
for under-valuation, paying him his price plus ten per cent., as the law directed. 
The second cargo, much to his delight, met with the same reception. With the 
third the tardily-enlightened Government allowed him to seek a less convenient 
customer. The metal movements were stamped from sheet-brass so rapidly 
that three men with one machine could cut out the works of five hundred clocks 
a day, reducing the cost of a clock-movement to fifty cents. At this rate the 
sale was enormous. The metal clocks, unlike the wooden clocks, could stand 
any climate, and this, with their astonishing cheapness gave them world-wide 
acceptance. 



CYRUS W. FIELD 



THE SUCCESSFUL PROJECTOR. OE THE ATLANTIC 

CABLE. 




OW necessary it is to succeed !" sadly remarked Kossuth, 
the Hungarian patriot, as he stood at the tomb of Wash- 
ington. Many a noble and brave man beside Kossuth 
has illustrated the truth that the world bestows honor 
only for success ; but few have so nobly displayed the 
qualities necessary to win success as the projector of 
the orreat Atlantic cable. 

Cyrus West Field was born at Stockbridge, Massa- 
chusetts, November 30, 1819. He was the son of Rev. 
,;.!' David Dudley Field, a distinguished clergyman. He was 
carefully educated, and at the age of fifteen went to New 
York to seek his fortune. He had no difficulty in obtaining a 
clerkship in an enterprising mercantile house, and, from the first 
gave evidence of unusual business capacity. His employers advanced him 
rapidly, and in a few years he became a partner. His success was so marked 
that in 1853, when only thirty-four years old, he was able to partially retire] 
from business with a large fortune. 

Mr. Field had devoted himself so closely to his business that, at his retire- 
ment, he resolved to seek recreation and change of scene in foreign travel, and I 
accordingly he left New York, and passed the next six months in journeying] 
through the mountains of South America. Upon his return home, at the close j 
of the year 1853, he declared his intention to withdraw entirely from active! 
participation in business, and to engage in no new schemes. 

Scarcely had Mr. Field returned when he was solicited by his brother Mat. 
thew to accord an interview to a Mr. Frederick Gisborne, of Newfoundland, 
who had conceived a plan to establish telegraphic communication between New| 
York and St. Johns, Newfoundland, and from the latter point to despatch 
swift steamers to London or Liverpool, which were expected to make the voy- j 
age in five or six days. Mr. Field listened to his enthusiastic visitor with close 
attention, but without committing himself to the project. But, after the latter 
70S 



CYRUS W. FIELD. 709 

had left, he took out his maps and charts, and began to mentally estimate the 
cost and difficulties of the plan, when suddenly the idea came to him : " Instead 
of steamers, why not run an electric wire through the ocean itself?" This 
thought, he says, thrilled him like a veritable shock of electricity, and he could 
hardly contain himself until he had sought the opinion of persons more practi- 
cally acquainted with the science of electricity, and with the conformation of the 
ocean-bed, than he was at that time. Being assured by the best authorities of 
the feasibility of the plan, he became thoroughly interested in the project, and 
resolved at once to try and interest a sufficient number of capitalists to enable 
the company to make a practical beginning. 

A company was soon found, consisting of a few wealthy men of New York. 
Mr. Peter Cooper was president. Mr. Field was the man who undertook the 
immense labor of pushing the enterprise. He visited England, where he 
obtained large subscriptions to the capital stock of the company. He secured 
the cordial aid of the British government, both in money and in the use of ves- 
sels for laying the cable. He attended to the manufacture of the cable itself, 
and the construction of the machinery for "paying out" from the vessels. 
Then he returned to America, and with difficulty secured the co-operation of 
the United States government. The bill passed Congress by very small 
majorities, and was signed by President Buchanan in March, 1857 

THE FIRST ATTEMPT. 

On August 6th, the " Niagara " and "Agamemnon," with the precious cable 
aboard, started from Valentia, a small town on the western coast of Ireland. 
Mr. Field was on board of the " Niagara ;" Professor Morse and other electri- 
cians accompanied Mr. Field to watch the execution of the enterprise. As 
fathom after fathom of the great cable passed over the side of the " Niagara" 
and slipped into the silent sea, every one on board began to feel a sort of 
human interest in the cable itself, as if it were a thing of life. An eye-witness- 
on the " Niagara" has eloquently described the feeling of subdued solemnity 
which gradually took possession of the whole ship's company. Suddenly a 
great calamity came. By the too sudden application of a brake on the " pay- 
ing-out " machine, the cable snapped, parted, and wholly disappeared beneath 
the waves. The shock was almost too great for the firmest nerves. All felt 
as if a cherished comrade had just slipped the cable of life, and gone to his 
grave in the depths of the ocean. 

The lateness of the season precluded the idea of repairing the accident,. sa' 
as to continue the work that year. The fleet returned to England, and Mr. 
Field immediately gave orders for the construction of seven hundred additional 
miles of cable to replace what was lost. During all this time his activity- 
appeared almost to exceed the bounds of human endurance. Many were the 



7IO THE FIRST SUCCESS. 

successive twenty-four hours in which he had no sleep, except such naps as he 
would catch in a railway car. But faith in the final success bore him up. On 
the loth of June in the following year the work of relaying the cable com- 
menced ; but another disappointment was in store for him. About two hundred 
miles of cable had been laid, when it broke as did the former one, and once 
more the labor of months was swallowed up by the sea. The defect this time 
appeared to be in the construction of the cable itself, as it was repaired several 
times and finally abandoned. 

Of course it required all of Mr. Field'seloquence to induce the directors to 
make another essay ; he himself was greatly chagrined at the failure ; but he 
still saw that the difficulties to be overcome were not insurmountable, and that 
perseverence would finally win. Again the fleet left Oueenstown, on July 17th, 
making their rendezvous in mid-ocean on the 28th ; the next day the cables on 
the "Agamemnon" and the "Niagara " were spliced and the steamers once 
more parted company, the " Agamemnon " trailing her share of the cable 
toward Ireland, the Niagara hers toward Newfoundland. Each vessel 
reached its destination on the 5th of August. Signals were passed and repassed 
over the whole length, and the enterprise seemed to be finally rewarded with 
success. Messages were exchanged between the Oueen and President Bucha- 
nan ; a public reception was given to Mr. Field, and the event was celebrated 
in New York and other cities. For nearly four weeks the cable worked perfectly ; 
then came a sudden stop. On the ist of September the cable refused to 
respond. 

The general disappointment was as great as the elation had been, and many 
thought no further effort would ever be made. At a meeting of the Chamber 
of Commerce in New York, a gentleman present presumed to assert his belief 
that the cable had never really worked. Mr. Cunard, of the British steamship 
line, who also happened to be there, immediately arose and vehemently 
denounced the statement as false, adding, " I have myself sent messages and 
received replies." Only one or two others besides Mr. Field retained any con- 
fidence that the difficulties of ocean telegraphy could ever be overcome. 

But Cyrus W. Field knew no such word as " fail." Perceiving, however, 
that he could not under the circumstances hope to obtain additional private sub- 
scriptions, he appealed once more to the British government to come to the 
rescue of the great work of the century. This was liberally extended ; but in 
the meantime the civil war in the United States interfered with further progress 
there. Little was done until 1863, when the manufacture of a new cable was 
begun. It was completed during the year 1864-5, ^^i*^ the sum of ^600,000 
was raised for the company, mainly through the instrumentality of Mr. Field. 
On this occasion but one vessel was employed to bear the cable — but that was 
the " Great Eastern." 



CYRUS W. FIELD. 



ni 



On the 23d of July, 1865, the land connection was made, and the great ship 
commenced her momentous voyage. Day by day the great wheel turned, and 
fathom after fathom of the new cable, heavier and more carefully insulated than 
its predecessors, slipped overboard into the sea. The work went bravely on for 
1 200 miles ; but when approaching Newfoundland the old misfortune recurred ; 
in spite of all the care and watchfulness, the cable broke and disappeared under 
the waves. 

Attempts were made to recover the cable by grappling ; but though it was 




ARRIVAL OF THE GREAT EASTERN. 



several times caught and lifted nearly to the surface, the strain was too great 
for the grapnels ; they broke, and again the cable sank. It was evident that 
more efificient appliances would be required. The spot was carefully marked 
by buoys, and the great vessel returned to England. 

The strain of repeated disappointment was terrible ; but it had at least been 
demonstrated that a cable could be laid and a message sent over it. Public 
confidence in the ultimate success of the enterprise was greater. Before the 
next year Mr. Field succeeded in obtaining large new subscriptions. Another 
cable was made and all the appliances for laying it perfected ; and on Friday, 



713 THE FINAL TRIUMPH. 

July 13th the " Great Eastern " again sailed from Ireland with the cable sinking; 
into the ocean as she moved westward. 

LANDING OF THE CABLE. 

Public interest in the enterprise had now become intense. It was known that 
the cable would be landed at Heart's Content, in Newfoundland, and many had 
gone there from various parts of the country to witness the arrival of the " Great 
Eastern." The shore was fringed with visitors, opera or spy-galss in hand, 
watching the Eastern horizon. Fourteen days passed away; it is Friday morning, 
the 27th day of July, 1866. Here at last she comes ! As she draws nearer the 
people see that her colors are all set, which at least indicates that they have met 
with no disaster. With every mile's advance of the steamer the excitement 
grows. Too impatient to await the arrival, scores of boats put off to row toward 
her. A delay of nearly two hours occurs while the latter connects the heavy 
shore end with the main cable, and at last the two continents are united ! 

Unfortunately the cable across the Gulf of St. Lawrence was disabled, and 
it was not until Sunday, the 2gth, that this was repaired, and the heart-cheering 
intellisrence announced to the nation. This was the message : — 

" Heart's Content, July 27th. We arrived here at nine o'clock this morn- 
ing. All well. Thank God, the cable is laid, and is in perfect working order. 
Cyrus W. Field." 

Almost immediately the "Great Eastern" again put to sea, and, proceed- 
ing to where the cable of 1865 had been lost, succeeded without much trouble 
in grappling it and bringing it to the surface. It was tested by sending a mes- 
sage so Valentia ; and being found perfect, was spliced to an additional section, 
which was brought to Newfoundland, and both of these cables have been in 
constant use to the present time. 

Many persons had contributed to this great success, but to Cyrus W. 
Field it is chiefly due. His energy and perseverance kept the subject constantly 
before the public. His courage inspired others, and his faith in its ultimate suc- 
cess alone kept its best friends from abandoning it in its darkest hours. In its 
behalf he spent twelve years of constant toil, and made over fifty voyages, more 
than thirty of which were across the Atlantic. He devoted his entire fortune to 
the undertaking, and cheerfully incurred the risk of poverty rather than abandon 
it. It is but just that he, who was the chief instrument in obtaining for the 
world this great benefit, should receive the largest measure of praise. 

At a banquet, given in his honor by the New York Chamber of Commerce, 
Mr. Field said : — 

" It has been a long, hard struggle — nearly thirteen years of anxious watch- 
ing and ceaseless toil. Often my heart has been ready to sink. Many times 
when wandering in the forests of Newfoundland in the pelting rain, or on the 



CYRUS IV. FIELD. 



7^1- 



decks of ships on dark, stormy nights, alone, far from home, I have almost accused" 
myself of madness and folly to sacrifice the peace of my family and all the hopes 
of life for what might prove, after all, a dream. I have seen my companions, one 
and another, falling by my side, and feared that I might not live to see the end. 
And yet one hope has led me on, and I have prayed that I might not taste of 
death till this work was accomplished. That prayer is answered ; and now 
beyond all acknowledgments to men, is the feeling of gratitude to Almighty 
God." 

In 1869, Mr. Field was present at the opening of the great Suez Canal, as. 




'^^**^-- -I^:^^ ~%5i ^-^^ 



ELEVAIKD RAILROAD IN NE\\ MlRK. 



representative of the Chamber of Commerce of New York. In 1880 he made 
a tour around the world, and secured from the government of the Sandwich 
Islands concessions for a Pacific cable, to be laid from San Francisco. He became 
deeply interested in the elevated railway system of New York city, and devoted 
much time and money to its development. The latter part of his life was spent 
in New York, of which he was one of the most conspicuous and honored citizens. 
Domestic troubles and financial losses clouded the few years just before his 
death, which occurred on July 12th, 1892. 



WILLIAM McKINLEY. 



THE DISTINGUISHED TARIFF REFORM LEADER AND WAR PRESIDENT. 



When William McKinley was inaugurated the twenty-fifth President of the 
United States of America, March 4, 1S97, he took his seat amid troublous times. 
Cuba's cry of oppression and starvation for three years had been wafted on 
every breeze from the South, pleading to our country for succor. Congress 
and the Senate were wrought up almost if not quite to the point of recognizing 
the Cuban insurgents. On the other hand, the Monroe Doctrine and the 
admonitions of Washington bade us refrain from interfering in foreign difficulties. 
McKinley respected these injunctions and adhered to them even to the point of 
rendering himself unpopular with his party and with the country, wisely fighting 
against all rash acts on the part of the Government and using every effort in his 
power to bring about a peaceful settlement between Spain and Cuba, remitting 
not until Spain herself, arrogantly refusing all overtures, forced the United States 
into the conflict. The story of this conflict and the admiration and love which 
McKinley inspired in the hearts of his countrymen by his patriotic and wise 
administration during the same are too fresh in the minds of all readers to need 
repeating here. It is with McKinley the man that this short sketch must deal. 

William McKinley, Jr., was born in Niles, Trumbull County, Ohio, 
Jan- 29, 1843. His father was a German by birth and lived to his 85th 
year, his mother, of Scotch descent, being still alive at this writing. William 
was the third son. The eldest, David, is a resident of San Francisco, where, 
until 1894, he was the Hawaiian Consul General to the United States. The 
second son, James, died a few years ago, and Abner, younger than \\"illiam, is 
engaged in business in the city of New York. 

When five years old, William attended the village school at Niles, continu- 
ing his studies at a more advanced school at Poland, whither his parents removed 
in order to obtain better educational advantages for their children. When not 
quite si.Kteen, William was sent to the Allegheny College at Meadville, Pa., but 
fell ill and had to return home. When he recovered, he began teaching school, 
receiving 5^25 a month and "boarding around." He was thus engaged, when 
the country was thrilled by the news that Fort Sumter had been fired upon, 
instantly the pale-faced, gray-eyed student, flung aside his books and enlisted as 
7M 



WILLIAM McKINILF.y, JR. 



715 



a private in the war for the Union. It was patriotism of the loftiest nature which 
inspired the young teacher. He was mustered in at Columbus in June, by 
General John C. Fremont, who thumped the young man's chest, looked in his 
clear eye, and surveying him from head to foot said : " You'll do ! " 

Young McKinley was attached to the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer 
Infantry, and remainded with it to the close of the war. During that 
period, he served on the staff of Brigadier General Rutherford B. Hayes, 

afterwards President of the 
United States, on the staff 
of the famous Indian fighter, 
General Crook, and sub- 
sequently on that of Briga- 
dier General Hazen. He 
was in all the engagements 
in which his regiment took 
part, and was made a second 
lieutenant directly after the 
battle of Antietam, upon the 
urgent recommendation of 
General Hayes. He became 
first lieutenant, February 7, 
1863, captain, July 25, 1864, 
and was breveted major by 
President Lincoln for gallant 
conduct on the fields of 
Opequan, Fisher's Hill and 
Cedar Creek, being mus- 
tered out with his regiment, 
in July, 1865. 

Thus at the age of 
twenty-two. Major McKinley 
was a fire-tried veteran of the 
war for the Union, with a 
record to which he can always refer with patriotic pride. 

But the war was over, the Union restored, and the modest young man, 
without pausing to boast of his deeds, entered upon the study of law. He was, 
graduated from the Albany (N. Y.) Law School, and settling in the little town 
of Canton, Ohio, waited for his clients to come to him. They straggled thither, 
and fortunate were all who secured the services of the brilliant, conscientious, 
and learned lawyer. His ability attracted the attention of Judge Belden, who 
invited him to a partnership with him, and the connection lasted until the death 




MRS. WILLIAM MCKINLEV 



7i6 WILLIAM McKINLEY, JR. 

of the Judge in 1870. His townsmen showed their appreciation of the young 
man by electing him, in 1869, prosecuting attorney of Stark county, an office 
which he held for a number of yours. He had already established his reputa- 
tion as a powerful jury lawyer and one of the best speakers in the State. 

At the age of thirty-three, the people of his district elected him their repre- 
sentative in Congress, his re-election following until 1890, when, through the 
gerrymandering of his district, he was defeated by a small majority. From 
January, 1892 to January, 1894, and again until January, 1896, he was Governor 
of Ohio, his election being among the most notable triumphs of his career. 

While in Congress, McKinley was a member of the Committee on Revision 
of Laws, the Judiciary Committee, the Committee on Expenditures in the Post 
Office Department, and the Committee on Rules. Upon the nomination of 
General Garfield for the Presidency, McKinley took his place on the Committee 
on Ways and Means, serving with the committee for the rest of his time in 
Congress. It was while he was chairman that he framed the " McKinley Bill," 
which still bears his name. This tariff act became law, October i, 1890, and 
provided for a high rate of duty on an immense number of articles imported 
from foreign countries, but made sugar free. Its purpose was to reduce the 
national revenue and to increase protection. 

The work involved in the preparation of this bill is almost inconceivable. 
It contained thousands of items and covered every interest in the country. For 
four weeks, while the House was in session, he was almost constantly upon his 
feet, answering numberless questions, meeting objections and giving informa- 
tion. With the e.xception of two minor amendments, it passed exactly as it 
came from the hands of the committee. 

A correspondent of the New York Press thus describes the man : " Quiet, 
dignified, modest, considerate of others, ever mindful of the lonsf service of the 
veterans of his party, true as steel to his friends, unhesitating at the call of 
duty, no matter what the personal sacrifice ; unwavering in his integrity, full of 
tact in overcoming opposition, yet unyielding on vital party principles, with a 
heart full of sympathy for those who toil, a disposition unspoiled by success and a 
private life as spotless as self sacrificing, he stands before the American people 
to-day as one of the finest types of courageous, persevering, vigorous, and 
developing manhood that the Republic has ever produced." 

A man like Major McKinley could not fail to make an ideal husband, 
when blessed as he was with an ideal wife. Both of their children died in infancy, 
and the wife became an invalid ; yet, though their silver wedding was cele- 
brated in January, 1896, no lovers were evermore chivalrously devoted to each 
other than were they. Major McKinley was nominated for the Presidency by 
the National Republican Convention held at St. Louis in June, 1896, and the fol- 
lowing November was elected President of the United States by a magnificent 



I 



UIl.l.IAMMcKINI.EWJR. 717 

majority. The chief issues of the campaign were the maintenance of the 
Gold Standard and the protection of American industries. 

President McKinley's administration was a success from the I^eginning-. 
Lack of confidence which pervaded the country during three years of the pre- 
vious administration was quickly dispelled. Business rapidly revived under 
the new Dingley Tariff Bill, which was the first important act of the new 
administration. The most important event of his administration was the war 
with Spain, which began in April, 1898, and was successfully terminated in the 
summer of the same year, and thereby Spanish sovereignty in this hemisphere 
was ended, and, by the provisions of the Treaty of Peace, the Philippine and 
Porto Rican Islands were added to the territory of the United States. 

On June 21, 1900, Mr. McKinley was again nominated for the presidency 
by the Republican Convention which met at Philadelphia. He was elected 
and inaugurated for a second term. An era of prosperity and good feeling 
marked the opening months of Mr. McKinley's second term. Early in the 
spring, he with his wife and Cabinet made a visit to California to witness the 
launching of the new warship Ohio. He was received everywhere Avith marked 
enthusiasm. 

In May, 1901, the Pan American Exposition was opened at Buffalo, New 
York. September 6th., was appointed as President's Day, and elaborate pre- 
parations were made for his reception. 

While the President was shaking hands, in Music Hall with the people in 
line, a young man fired two shots at the President, one taking effect in the 
breast and the other in the abdomen. The excitement ran high. 

Leon Czolgosz who shot President McKinley, entered the Temple of 
Music in the long line of those waiting to shake hands with the President. 
Over his rio-ht hand he wore a white handkerchief, as if the hand were band- 
aged. Beneath this handkerchief he had concealed a short-barreled, 32-caliber 
revolver. A little eirl was immediately ahead of him in the line, and the Presi- 
dent, after patting her kindly on the head, turned with a smile of welcome and 
extended his hand. 

Czolgosz thrust out both his hands, brushed aside the President's right 
hand with his left hand, lurched forward against the President, and, thrusting 
his right hand close against his breast, pulled the trigger twice. 

The shots came in such quick succession as to be almost simultaneous. At 
the first shot the President quivered and clutched at his chest. At the second 
shot he doubled slightly forward and sank back. It all happened in a twinkle 
— in less time than it takes to tell it. 

The President was first aided to a chair. His face was deathly white 
He made no outcry, but sank back with one hand holding his abdomen, 
the other fumblincr at his breast. His eyes were open and he was clearly 



7i8 



WILLIAM McR-INLEY, JR. 



conscious of all that happened. He looked up into President Milburn's face 
and gasped the name of his secretary, Cortelyou. 

The three thoughts in his mind were, first, for his wife, for he asked that 
they should not tell her he was shot ; second, that the assassin should not be 
harmed, for he said, let no one harm him, and third, regret for any inconven- 
ience occasioned to the exposition authorities. 

The skillful surgeons found two wounds and immediately operated upon 
the patient. He was conveyed to the residence of President Milburn where 
every thing possible was done for the distinguished patient. 

For three days there was high hope for his immediate recovery. Then 
there was a relapse and despite all the doctors could do, the good President 
passed away early in the morning of September 14th. His last words as 
he lost consciousness were, " Good-by all, good-by. It's God's way. His 
will, not ours, be done." These will always be remembered and treasured as 
the index of a beautiful life. Quickly the telegraph flashed the news, to the 
remotest sections of our large country, to the islands in the far away seas and 
to the peoples of other lands. Immediately church bells were tolled, flags 
were lowered to half mast and buildings were draped in black. Beautiful 
messages of sympathy were cabled from Kings, Queens and dignitaries of all 
lands. The world grieved with the people of McKinley's own land. The peo- 
ple everywhere mourned as for the loss of a personal friend. There was an 
imposing State funeral at Washington and a beautiful and solemn service at 
Canton, Ohio, where he was finally laid to rest with his kindred and people. 
By the laws of the land Theodore Roosevelt, the Vice-President, became the 
new President, promising to do all the good things his predecessor had tried 
to do and left unfinished. 

The following lines, breathed by the President in his dying moments, are 
fitting words with which to close this biography : 



Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee, 
E'en though it be a cross 

That raiseth me. 
Still all my song shall be, 

Nearer, my God. to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee ! 



Qr, if on joyful wing. 

Cleaving the sky. 
Sun, moon and stars forgot. 

Upward I fly. 
Still all my song shall be. 

Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee ! 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 




L']3^Hl^fe. 



-««»*i?^^ 



THE TWENTIETH CENTURY PRESIDENT. 

"Theodore Roosevelt is Andrew 
Jackson educated," said a prominent 
historian to the writer, while the hero of 
the Rough-Riders was making the race 
for Governor of the State of New York 
in October, 1898. If we may trust the 
record already made, the historian's defi- 
nition is not far from the truth. In tem- 
perament the two characters are much 
the same. Strength of conviction, inflex- 
ibility of will, integrity of purpose, inten- 
sity and fearlessness of action were the 
distinguishing qualities of the " Hero 
of New Orleans." Add to these the 
polish of a college education, wide travel, '"^ 
and varied experience, with whatever 
modification of judgment and character | 
these advantages make, and the result 
would very nearly characterize the sub- 
ject of this sketch. 

No man of his a^e in America has 
been a more uncompromising reformer or waged a more relentless warfare 
against corrupt and designing public officials. Both in public and private, he 
has been always the stanch, fearless champion of the right. 

Mr. Roosevelt is a native of New York City, where he was born October 
27, 1858. On his mother's side he descends from the prominent old Southern 
family of Bulloch, to which the famous Governor Bulloch, of Georgia, and the 
builder of the renowned Confederate ship Alabama belonged. His father, 
Theodore Roosevelt, Sr., was a prominent and wealthy citizen of New York. 
Like his illustrious son, he possessed great strength and nobility of character, 
marked purity of life, and benevolence. The family of the Roosevelts have lived, 
in New York from the time of the old Dutch Governor, Peter Stuyvesant, and 
throughout every generation they have been represented by some upright and. 
honorable man of their name in the public service. 

719 




TIIEODORK ROUhtVliLr ADDKLSSl.Mj A I'ol'ULAK AUDIEN'CE 



720 THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 

Those who have seen and admired the robust, sturdy-shouldered, square- 
;jawed man, who looks and is a born fighter, can hardly realize that he was so 
thin, pale, and delicate as a boy, and so very slow to learn that his parents dared 
not send him to the public schools, because he had neither the strength to study 
nor to join in play with the other boys. As he grew older, he tells us, he became 
seriously sensitive of his physical weakness, and " I was determined to make a 
man of myself, and began a system of outdoor exercise, continually making it 
more vigorous as I had the strength to bear it, and that is what did the work 
for me." 

At the age of eighteen young Roosevelt entered Harvard College, where 
he graduated in 1880, shortly before he was twenty-two years of age, after which 
he went abroad and continued his studies for a time in Dresden, traveled in 
Europe and in Asia, and at the age of twenty-three returned to New York and 
took up the study of law in the office of his uncle, Robert B. Roosevelt, but 
-soon after abandoned it for politics. 

In 1882, when the members of the General Assembly met at Albany, Theo- 
«dore Roosevelt went as the representative of his district. He was the youngest 
member of the Legislature, but he soon made himself what he has been ever 
since — a storm centre. Within two months he had studied his colleao^ues and 
divided them into two classes — the good and the bad — and, to the astonishment 
-and dismay of the latter, opened an uncompromising war, with himself the undis- 
puted leader of the incorruptible minority. It was nothing to him that he had 
a bitter majority of corrupt politicians to fight, nor that the strong and powerful 
press lampooned him without mercy as " an egotistical popinjay." He knew it 
was right to fight and expose corruption, and his courage faltered not once. 
He was re-elected twice. The reforms which his aegrressive daring- effected 
during his three terms in the New York Legislature saved the public hundreds 
of thousands of dollars annually, which had formerly gone into the "grab-bag" 
ot the spoilsman in office. 

In 1884 Mr. Roosevelt was sent as an instructed delegate to the Repub- 
lican National Convention at Chicago, and two years later, 1886,' at the age of 
twenty-eight, he made the race for Mayor of New York, and, though defeated, 
he polled the largest Republican vote ever given to any candidate for that ofifice 
by his party up to that time. 

In 1889 President Harrison appointed the dauntless young reformer Pres- 
ident of the United States Civil Service Commission, which position he filled 
for six years, four of them under President Cleveland, who, recognizing his 
ability, courage, and sterling integrity, continued him in that ofifice. When 
he accepted the ofifice he saw there was an heroic work to be done in the 
•correction of public abuses, and that he would have the bitterest and most 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 72 r 

powerful opposition in Congress and out of it ; but it was a work that he 
liked, and with the conviction that the spoil-monger and the bribe-o-iver were 
equally bad, he assailed them both without favor or mercy, grappling publicly 
and privately with every stripe of politician; he "ousted rascals," and enforced 
tlie law as it had never been enforced before. 

In 1895, after the Parkhurst crusade against corrupt administration. in New 
York City, which resulted in the overthrow of a municipal ring by the election 
of Mayor Strong, die question arose, "Who is brave enough, and wise enough, 
and strong enough to head the Board of Police Commissioners and enforce the 
principles of reform ? " Roosevelt was chosen. Within a month he was at 
once the most hated and the best-beloved man in New York City. His clear 
and rigid interpretation of the laws was a marvel even to his friends, and his 
prompt, uncompromising enforcement of them was an astonishment alike to 
policemen and offenders. The promptness and rapidity of his action was like a 
whirlwind, spreading consternation among all law-breakers. 

The politicians tried to entangle him, but he foiled and eluded them at 
every attempt by speaking the plain truth and sticking to the plain law, which he 
enforced with impartiality against rich and poor alike. Many of the laws had 
been dead-letters for years. Under him they became instantly alive and active. 
When prominent citizens and influential newspapers protested, he answered: 
" I am placed here to enforce the law as I find it. I shall enforce it. If you 
don't like the law, repeal it." The police at first learned to fear him, for he 
brooked no neglect of duty ; then, to respect him, for he worked more hours 
than he required of them, and demanded nothing but simple duty ; then to love 
him, for he quickly recognized and rewarded merit. 

When the Cuban war began to excite this country intensely in 1897, Mr. 
Roosevelt remarked to a friend, " We shall be compelled to fight Spain before 
a year passes." It was this belief that induced him to give up the position in 
the New York Police Department and accept the Assistant Secretaryship of the 
Navy when it was offered to him by President McKinley in 1S97. His first 
work was to ascertain the needs of the navj'. " To be prepared for war is the 
most effectual means to promote peace," said Washington, and this became 
Roosevelt's motto in his new position. He suggested and put through a 
measure to get every American war-vessel in fighting trim, and to fill every 
foreign coaling station with an ample supply of fuel. It was this which enabled 
Dewey to move so promptly from Hong Kong to Manila, and it was Roose- 
velt who urged the sending of the dispatch instructing the now famous Admiral 
to capture or destroy the Spanish fleet at Manila immediately upon the declara- 
tion of war. Peace Commissioner Cushman K. Davis declared : " If it had not 

been for Roosevelt we should not have been able to strike the blow we did at 
46 



722 THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 

Manila. It was Roosevelt's forethought, energy, and promptness that made it 
possible." 

Six days after Dewey's victory Mr. Roosevelt resigned his portfolio in 
the Navy Department and organized the now famous Rough-Riders (Seventy- 
first New York Cavalry), composed of cow-boys, policemen, and rich young 
society men — all good horsemen, good shots, and full of courage. He had en- 
joyed four years' training as militiaman in the National Guards of the State of 
New York, in which he held the rank of captain, consequently he was compe- 
tent for the colonelcy of his regiment, which was offered him, but, with charac- 
teristic generosity, he declined the honor, suggesting his friend. Dr. Leonard 
Wood, a surgeon and trained Indian-fighter, as colonel, himself taking second 
in command. At Las Guasimas, the first engagement of his regiment in Cuba, 
he fought with marked bravery, and when Colonel Wood was advanced to 
brigadier-general after that battle, Mr. Roosevelt was advanced to colonel, in 
which capacity he served during the remainder of the war. The stories of their 
colonel's bravery, generosity, and kindness, as told by the Rough-Riders, would 
fill a volume. It was an act of reciprocity. Roosevelt loved his men ; and 
when they were mustered out of service in September, 1898, he presented 
every man of them with a medal of honor and saw that none of them went 
away in need; 

Mr. Roosevelt is fond of outdoor life and is an enthusiastic sportsman, in 
the nobler sense of that term. During his fifteen years of busy toil he has 
found time to make threescore or more trips into the " wild and woolly West." 
He owns a large ranch in the Bad Lands of North Dakota, and this is his 
retreat for rest and recreation. 

When at home he lives in a comfortable, roomy house with pleasant grounds 
surrounding it, on Oyster Bay, Long Island. He married Miss Edith K. Carow 
in 1886, and at the time of his inauguration as Governor of New York, January 
2, 1899, ^^ h^^ ^^° daughters and three sons. 

Mr. Roosevelt is a man of comfortable fortune, but he believes and delights 
in constant employment. He has done enough literary work to entitle him to re- 
nown, though one hardly misses the time in which he did it from the stirring scenes 
of public life. When he was twenty-three years of age he finished his history of 
"The Naval War of 18 12." This book has since become the standard history 
of that period, and a copy of it is in the library of every American warship. 
Following this came the four-volumed work. " Winning of the West," a history 
of the acquirement by our government of the territory west of the Alleghenies. 
This work is perhaps the most important, evincing great original research, and 
is regarded by authorities as a standard histor)^. His " Life of T. H. Benton" 
and " The Life of Governor Morris " stamp him as a biographer of ability. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 1^2> 

His " History of the City of New York " is the best on the subject. A series 
of hero tales from American history, and "The Imperial History of the British 
Navy," his last work, done in collaboration with Captain A. T. Mahan, make 
up a bulk of carefully done historical writing not exceeded, perhaps, by any 
man of his years in America. 

Out of his Western experiences he has produced three large volumes, 
entitled " Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail," " The Wilderness Hunter," and 
" Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," which are acknowledged the most excellent 
works on the hunting of large game in America. Two volumes of his miscella- 
neous essays have also been published. His style is nervous, energetic, direct, 
and entertaining ; his descriptions vivid and true to nature. 

In 1900, Governor Roosevelt was nominated for the Vice-Presidency, at the 
Republican convention held in Philadelphia and elected to the office by a large 
popular vote. 

On September 14, 1901, President William McKinley died at Buffalo, 
from the shot of an anarchist assassin. Mce-President Roosevelt was immedi- 
ately sworn into office as President of the U nited States, at the age of forty-three. 
He is the youngest man who has occupied that exalted position. He, with his 
fellow countrymen, felt keenly the great sorrow which had come upon the 
country. His first official act was to issue a proclamation, appointing Septem- 
ber 19, 1901, as a day of mourning. He announced that he would faithfully 
carry out the policy of his predecessor and retain his Cabinet in office. This 
established confidence and won for him the highest regards of his countrymen. 
President Roosevelt continued to grow in favor with the public. One of 
his most popular acts soon after his accession was the appointment of a Board 
of Arbitration to settle a dispute between the operators and miners in the coal 
' regions of Pennsylvania. Almost all resources had been exhausted, and the 
public were suffering because the mines were closed. The President sum- 
moned to the White House the leading operators and the head of the Miners' 
Union. Through his influence they agreed to submit their grievances to a 
Board of Arbitrators. The outcome was a happy one and the miners returned 
to work. 

The President continued the policy towards Cuba and the Philippine 
Islands which his predecessor had inaugurated. The result was the restoration 
of peace in the Philippiens ; the purchase of the friars' lands late in 1903 and 
the establishment of general confidence in the American Government in the 
islands. Also on December 17, 1903, the ratification of a Reciprocity Treaty 
with Cuba was accomplished. 



■ MARSHALL FIELD, 

THE MODERM BUSINESS IwIAN. 



THE term "New West" to most 
of us is apt to call up a picture 
of the growth of a great agri- 
cultural country; of vast areas 
of land brought under cultiva- 
tion ; of enormous crops raised ; 
of improved processes in farming 
and mining. But the new West 
in reality includes a great deal 
moi e than this. With the growth 

o 

of the country have sprung up 
great cities, which are just as 
typical features of the West as 
the mines of Colorado or the 
wheat farms of Dakota. The 
most Important crop, after all, is 
the crop which is raised in cities 
as well as in the country, — the 
crop which indeed raises the 
cities, — namely, the crop of 7ncn. Marshall Field is one of the men who has 
made the new West. His influence on the growth, trade, and habits of mer- 
cantile life would be hard to measure. A more complete contrast between the 
West of to-day, and the West as it was when he became a part of it, would be 
'hard to find. 

Marshall Field was a country boy, born in Conway, Massachusetts, in 1835. 
His father was a farmer, a man in moderate circumstances, able to give hrs son 
the moderate but sound education which every intelligent New England farmer 
considers indispensable. He had in his boyhood the advantages of good public 
schools, and later of the Conway Academy. Marshall was a quiet, thoughtful 
boy, always inclined to make the most of his opportunities. He never liked 
farming, however, but from his earliest years inclined toward a mercantile life; 
724 




LAKE SHORE DRIVE, CHICAGO. 



MARSHALL FIELD. 



725 



and when he was seventeen left the farm and went to Pittsfield, where he obtained 
employment in a country store. Here he remained four years, and exhausted 
the opportunities of the situation, so far as business training was concerned. In 
these four years he developed a determination to reach something higher than 
was attainable in a New England country town. The tendency of the time was 
toward the West, and in 1S56 he left Massachusetts and made straight for 
Chicago, where he became a salesman in the wholesale dry-goods house of 
Cooley, Farwell & Co. , 




A CHICAGO MANSION IN THE EARLY DAYS. 



When Marshall Field reached Chicago, the cit)% and the whole country as 
well, was in a state of wild unrest and feverish growth. Chicago had been 
originally built on the prairie level ; not high enough above the waters of the 
lake to permit cellars underneath the houses, or to allow facilides for drainage. 
The grade of .the street was being raised some eight feet, and the buildings also 
had to come up to the same level. The streets were in a state of chaos, and 
going round them was a perpetual going up and down stairs. 

The most characteristic feature p^ western life in the year preceding the 



726 GROWTH OF A GREAT HOUSE. 

panic of 1857 was unsettlement. The growth of the country was tremendous ; 
the crops were increasing enormously, and the stream of immigration, increasing 
the population and the products of the country to an unheard-of extent, taxed 
every avenue of trade to the last degree. To do business safely amid the chano-- 
ing life of a new country, where men were poor one day and rich the next, and 
where few took time or had the prudence to ascertain from day to day where 
they stood, required rare abilities and a "level head." The whole tendency of 
business at such a time is speculative. To be conservative is well-nigh impossi- 
ble. Marshall Field had a conservative mind ; he was cool, careful, calculatino- 
prudent. To such a man a training in the midst of such conditions was invalu- 
able, and it helped him in great degree to form the character which became the 
basis of such g^reat success. 

Over this chaos of unhealthy growth, speculation, and unsettlement the 
panic of 1857 swept like a tornado. Of the prominent business houses of 
Chicago one of the survivors was that of Cooley, Farwell & Co., and the lessons 
which were received in that time of trial made Marshall Field indispensable to 
the house he served. By i860 he had worked his way up to the position of 
junior partner. Then came the flush times of the war, and the unsettlement of 
financial conditions produced by a fluctuating currency. But such conditions as 
these, which, in a man of less steadiness, would have produced a tendency 
toward speculation, worked exactly the other way with Marshall Field. As the 
temptations to reckless dealing multiplied, he grew more cautious and careful. 
While everybody else was expanding credits, he was restricting them. Safety 
was the first condition insisted upon, and the result was to establish the house 
upon a basis which nothing could shake. 

In 1865 the firm was re-organized, and Mr. Field, who had for some time 
been the real head, became so in name as well, the title of the firm beingf 
changed to Field, Palmer & Leiter. Two years later, with the withdrawal of Mr. 
Palmer, the firm was changed to Field, Leiter & Co., the guiding and control- 
ling spirit of the house remaining still the same. 

After the war the life of the West exhibited still the same conditions. In 
those well-remembered years of expansion and speculation preceding the panic of 
1873, the great firm of which Mr. Field was the head went on the steady, safe 
course which was inevitable under his control. Their business grew even more 
rapidly than that of others, although Mr. Field had applied to it conditions 
which many in the same line of business believed to be absolutely preventive of 
growth. At a time when other houses were extending almost unlimited credit 
to their customers, and themselves buying on a similar basis, he restricted credits 
absolutely to thirty and slxt)'' days, and required absolute promptness in the 
meeting of accounts when due. This was of itself sufficiently novel ; but a still 
more novel feature was that of paying cash for all purchases, thus restricting the 



MARSHALL FIFJ.D 



727 



credit which he took even more rigidly than that which he gave to buyers. Nor 
could he be tempted to speculate upon the credit of his house in other ways. 
He absolutely refused to sell goods of inferior character, no matter what the 
inducements offered. He insisted upon practically guaranteeing the quality of 
all goods sold ; and this, with the low prices which a practical cash system 
enabled him to make, drew to his house the cream of the trade from a large part 
of the entire West. 

In 1 87 1 came another great blow, but of a different kind. This was the 




THE BURNING OF CHICAGO IN 1S71. 



f^re which almost entirely destroyed the city of Chicago. Mr. Field was, of 
course, well insured ; no man of his well-known prudence would neglect that ; 
but in this emergency insurance itself failed, for so many of the companies were 
wiped out by the disaster that a comparatively small part of the insurance had 

was available. 

"What next ?" was the question on thousands of lips, as men stood gaz- 
ing on the smoking ruins of Chicago. With Marshall Field it was a question 
of'^the best thino- available. Few buildings of any kind were left standing ; but 



728 



AFTER THE GREAT FIRE. 



at the corner of State and Twentieth streets were some horse-car sheds which 
had been spared by the fire. While the smoke was still rising from the ruins 
of the great city, Mr. Field hired these sheds, and began to fit them up for the 
accommodation of the dry-troods business. At the same time francos of men 
were set to work clearing away the ruins of the burned stores of the firm, and 
erecting on them new buildings for perm.anent use. In the next year the new 
stores were ready for occupancy. In rebuilding a great improvement had been 
made by separating the retail from the wholesale department, giving to each a 
building adapted to its own especial needs. 

On the heels of the fire came the great panic of 1873 ; but the house of 




WHOLESALE STOKE OF MARSHALL FIELD & CO. 



Marshall Field & Company passed through it unscathed. It was hard to ruin a 
house which owed nothing, and whose customers had paid all bills up to within 
two months. The long credit concerns almost without exception, went down in 
the crash, but Mr. Field's house stood more firm than ever. 

In the years that followed, the business grew steadily. The wholesale 
department especially expanded, until in 1885 it was necessary to build once 
more. In that vear was begun a buildingf of orranite and sandstone which is 
to-day one of the finest wholesale dry-goods establishments in the world. To 
the retail store, buildino- after building has been added on the State street side, 
and later a magnificent annex at Wabash avenue and Washington street. In 



MARSHALL FIELD. 



729 



1865 Mr. Field's firm did a business aggregating $8,000,000 ; in 1892 the figures 
had risen to $70,000,000. 

In 1 88 1 INIr. Leiter witlidrew from the firm, and tlie name became Marshall 
Field & Company. It consists of Mr. Field and eight junior partners. All of 
these have grown up in the house. The store is a great school, which has 
furnished from its graduates not only the heads of the business itself, but also 
heads for many other businesses throughout the country. 

" Glancing over the hundreds of men in the wholesale department yester-' 




THE AUDITORIUM BUILDING, CHICAGO. 



day," says a Chicago reporter, " the writer saw a splendid display of bright 
young faces. Scarcely an employee in the building could boast of forty years of 
life, and gray hairs were not in line at all. With scarcely an exception, every 
man in a responsible position has grown up with the house, and won his spurs 
by merit ; and in a number of cases the spurs carry from $10,000 to $30,000 per 
year salary with them. It is in a great measure true of Marshall Field & 
Company's employees that they are 'raised in the house,' and among them the 
great merchant has found his most loyal friends and ablest counsellors." 




JOHN WANAMAKER, 

THE QREAX BUSINESS ORQANIZBR. 

HE time-honored saying that " What man has done, man 
may do," has cheered and encouraged multitudes of 
patient workers, toihng upward along the steep road 
to success. But among the mass are a few whose motto 
might well read, "I will do what others have never yet 
done." Something of originality, of special and unique 
power, marks the individuality of a few. Among these is 
John Wanamaker. He has not only achieved success, but 
t ''• "'^ff "^ achieving it he has wrought changes in the business 

' |: ^^ •- — \^ world which will long remain as marks and monuments of 
the peculiar powers which distinguish his character. 
John Wanamaker was born in Philadelphia in 1837. Like many other 
Americans who have risen to the top, he began at the bottom. His father was 
a brickmaker, and the boy's first business experience was in " turning bricks" 
and doing odd jobs around the yard. When he was a few years older, school 
had to be given up for steady work. He found a place as errand boy in a book- 
store, where he earned a salary of $1.25 a week. Every morning and evening 
he trudged over the four miles which lay between his home and the store, eating 
at noon the simple lunch which he brought with him from home, put up for him 
by a loving mother's hands. 

Soon he left the bookstore, and secured employment in a clothing store at 
$1.50 a week, — a large advance to him then. He quickly began to rise. He 
was prompt, obliging, civil to customers, and attentive to business. He was one 
of the kind of boys that are always in demand. His salary began to rise also, 
and kept on rising. 

John's poverty had obliged him to leave school with a very limited educa 
tion ; but he was always anxious to get more. He read and studied in the 
evenings, and improved every opportunity to add to his stock of knowledge. 
In later years, when he was asked how he got his education, he answered, " 1 
took it in as I went along, as a locomotive takes up water from a track tank." It 
is said that he received a special impulse toward study by hearing a sermon in 

730 



JUHN WANAMAKER. 



731 



which the speaker used a number of words the meaning of which John did not 
know. Having a good memory, he carried these words in his head until the 
next morning, when he had a chance to look them up in the dictionary. He 
concluded tliat, as the preacher would not be likely to use words which were not 
understood by most of the congregation, the trouble must be that John Wana- 
maker was uncommonly ignorant ; and this condition of affairs he resolved to 
remedy. 

When the civil war broke out in 1S61, John Wanamakcr was twenty-three 
years old. He had saved a little money, had acquired a thorough knowledge 
of the clothing business, and married a wife. In April of that year he formed a 
partnership with his brother-in-law, Nathan Brown, and embarked in the clothing 
business at Si.xtli and Market streets. From the beginning the business pros- 
pered. Both the partners were practical 
men. No unnecessary help was employed. 
They were not ashamed to take down the 
shutters, to sweep the store, or to deliver 
packages themselves, if necessary. But 
the business soon reached dimensions 
which gave them other work to do. It 
was perpetually outgrowing its facilities 
in every direction ; and to meet and pro- 
vide for this expansion called into exer- 
cise just those powers which Mr. Wana- 
maker possesses in such wonderful meas- 
ure, — the powers of organization. In 1868 
Mr. Brown died. By 1871 the business 
had absorbed all the space from Market 
to the next street, — a space which, when 
the firm began business, had been occupied by forty-five tenants. .Still it 
continued to grow, and in 1875 the large block occupied by the old Pennsyl- 
vania freight depot, at Thirteenth and Market streets, was bought, and a store 
built for a business of a new kind. The old, rambling freight station was 
remodeled, and turned into a great mart of trade, where dry goods, clothing, 
furniture, books, and nearly everything in the shape of supplies for the person 
and the home were sold, a separate department being devoted to each. Upon 
the establishment of this great "department store," Mr. Wanamaker concen- 
trated all his energies, and the experience of his previous career in his extensive 
lines of business. 

It is not too much to say that Mr. Wanamaker's innovations upon previous 
methods have revolutionized the manner of conducting retail businesses in gen- 
eral. Up to the time when his clothing store began to make its mark, the atti- 




732 



NEW BUSINESS METHODS. 



tude of merchants toward customers was commonly rather that of a party doing 
a favor. The modern spirit of doing everything possible to conciliate and 
accommodate the customer was almost unknown. The characteristics of retail 
stores were negligent, indifferent, and sometimes surly salesmen ; slowness, con- 
fusion, and lack of method in delivering goods, and general absence of the spirit 
of seeking and cultivating business, which is now the rule instead of the excep- 
tion. Moreover, a sale once made was made forever. A merchant who in that 
jday was asked to take back unsatisfactory goods and return the money would 
have rhet the request with contemptuous astonishment. Wanamaker changed 
all this. He not only sought trade, but made it evident that he was seeking 
trade. A customer coming into his store was met as a courteous host would 
meet a guest. His wants were quickly ascertained ; he was put in the hands 
of a polite and accommodating salesman, 
who did everything in his power to supply 
him with the article that suited him ; and if j 
for any reason, or even without reason, the 
goods which he had bought did not please 
him, they might be returned, and the money 
was repaid. When this last feature was 
inaugurated, it was looked upon with in- 
credulous contempt by competitors. ''That 
won't last long," they said with confidence ; 
but not only did it last, but they were 
themselves obliged to conform to the prac- 
tice, and it is now the uniform custom 
among the best stores. 

From the time when he first began 
business, John Wanamaker had a rare 
appreciation of the value of advertising, and his persistence and originality in 
this field have always distinguished his business. In this respect also he was a 
pioneer. Before his time the capabilities of advertising were little known or 
believed in. It was done fitfully and carelessly at best. The Idea of advertising 
a retail business regularly, week in and week out, rain or shine, good business 
or bad business, was one which was almust as novel as W^anamaker's plan of 
returning the money for unsatisfactory goods. For some time after these in- 
novations were begun, he had the field to himself His competitors had no faith 
that such new-fangled notions would last, and waited with contemptuous confi- 
dence for his business to wind itself up. But they waited in vain. Instead of 
ruinincr his business under these methods, it grrew at such a rate that it was 
almost impossible to provide accommodations for it which did not in a few years 
become too small. As it grew, Wanamaker grew. Every year developed his- 




ROBERT C. OGDEN 

Mr. Wanamaker's partner in his Department Stores 
and also a distinsnished Philanthropist. 



JOHN WANAMAKER. 



733 



wonderful organizing powers, and when the time came for the purchase of the 
great building at Thirteenth and Market streets, he was better prepared than 
ever before to build upon it a store in which should be carried on a business 
chat would embody the results of all his previous experience. 

The secret of Mr. Wanamaker's great success in business maybe summed 
up in one word, — Organization. It has been his uniform practice to secure for 
the heads of departments the best men to be had, regardless of cosi. Many 
men in his employ receive salaries larger than those of cabinet ministers. They 
are given full latitude for exercising all their best powers, and full reward for 
success. Each head of a department is treated as though he were himself 
the owner and master of the department. He is charged with all the ex- 
penses of the department, including his share of rent and advertising, the sala- 
ries of clerks, bookkeepers, etc. On the other hand, he is credited with all of 
the profits made in his department, and if he is able to show good results and 

increased sales, his position becomes bet- 
ter and better. He is allowed to manage 
his department in his own way, limited 
only by certain fixed rules of policy com- 
mon to the entire store. This system of 
management gives the responsible heads 
of the business every incentive to do 
their best, and results in an organization 
which is well-nigh perfect. 

In addition to the other motives fur- 
nished by Mr. Wanamaker for those in 
his employ to do the best of which they are capable, it has been for some years 
his practice to share profits to a certain extent with his employees. At the end 
of the first year after this practice was begun, $100,000 of profits were received 
by the employees of the Thirteenth street store. 

Considering the great load which Mr. Wanamaker has carried for many 
years, and considering also the fact that he has not followed the beaten paths of 
trade, but has been a great innovator, and constantly introducing novel methods 
of business, it is not surprising to learn that he has more than once been on the 
edge of failure ; but, like the greatest generals, he is a man who does not know 
wlien he is beaten. He refuses to recognize defeat, and the result has been 
that even the greatest emergencies have been met, and victory secured. He 
has not only learned how to do business himself but he has taught thousands 
of others. Department stores, conducted on the same plan as that of the great 
emporium at Thirteenth and Market streets, have sprung up all over the United 
States ; and for the ease with which buyers of all sorts of goods at retail can 
now make their purchases, and for the general tone of reliability, accommoda- 




BETHANY SU>'DAY-SCHOOL TENT, 1859. 



734 



BETHANY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 



tion, promptness, and cheapness which pervade retail business, the buyers of 
to-day have chiefly to thank John Wanamaker. 

HIS WORK FOR OTHERS. 

No one who knows the abounding and restless energy which characterizes 
Mr. Wanamaker, and his humane desire for the welfare of others,would expect to 
find his time employed exclusively for his own benefit. His public work has 
long been a most important part of his life. Before he went into the clothing 




BETHANY CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHlJI )L BUILDING. 



•business in 1861 he filled the position of Secretary of the Young Men's Chris- 
tian Association of Philadelphia, an organization in which his interest has never 
ceased. In later years, when he was carrying on a very large business, he 
became the President of this Association. His genius for organization has 
wrought results in that body no less important than those which he had already 
brought about in his own business. He helped to point out and develop the 
possibilities of the organization, which had hitherto been little known. During 
his presidency the splendid new building of the Association at Fifteenth and 
Chestnut streets was built, and this, like his store, was an object lesson to 



JOHN WANAMAKER. 735 

others who were carrying on the same hne of work. Since that time handsome 
buildings for homes of the local associations have sprung up in nearly all the 
large cities of the United States, and in these homes are found facilities for 
instruction, for social work, and for the help and betterment of young men gen- 
erally, which have made the Young Men's Christian Association such a power 
for good. 

One of the most characteristic of Mr. Wanamaker's enterprises outside 
of his own business is the Sunday-school of Bethany Presbyterian Church, of 
which he has long been superintendent. His connection with this now famous 
school goes back to the days when he was a poor and struggling young man. 
In the early days of his business life, and while still embarrassed by narrow 
means, Mr. Wanamaker went into one of the roughest districts of Philadelphia, 
where low groggeries abounded, and opened a Sunday-school in a shop occupied 
during the week by shoemakers. The district was one of the lowest and most 
disorderly in the city. It was even looked upon as dangerous to attempt such 
work in such a neighborhood. But to Mr. Wanamaker the obvious reflection 
was that the worse the neighborhood the greater the need of improvement. 
He succeeded in interesting the children, and the children interested their 
parents. After a few months the school had so increased that it outgrew 
the accommodations, and a large tent was rented in which it was carried on 
during the summer. From this beginning grew up the famous Bethany Sunday- 
school, which is now one of the largest in the country. Out of the school grew 
a church, whose membership is made up largely of the parents of the Sabbath- 
school children, and of the Sabbath-school children themselves, who have orrown 
to manhood and womanhood in the years sincq this work was begun. Sunday- 
school and church together have wrought a great change in the character of 
that district, and now the person who should suggest that there was danger in 
attempting to do such work in that neighborhood would be met with surprise 
indeed. 

It is characteristic of Mr. Wanamaker that for rest from business he turns, 
not to idleness, but to work of a different sort. His Sundays are spent in 
religious work of various kinds. He is Interested in movements for the spread 
of practical Christianity In almost every direction. He was one of the pioneers 
in the Moody and Sankey revival movement, and before the freight station was 
remodeled as a store in 1875, it was for some months used for the meetings, 
where frequently twenty thousand persons were gathered at one time. He 
was one of the original organizers of the Christian Commission, and of the 
Citizens' Relief Committee, a Philadelphia organization which gives aid in cases 
of sudden disaster, pestilence, or other trouble anywhere, which appeals to the 
sympathies of the citizens of Philadelphia. He is one of the managers of the 
Williamson Trade School. At the time of the Centennial Exposition he was 



736 



POSTMASTER-GENERAL. 



Chairman of the Bureau of Revenue, and raised the first million dollars for that 
great enterprise. He was also Chairman of the Press Committee, and in many- 
ways aided to make the work successful. When Mr. Harrison was elected to 
the Presidency in 1888, Mr. Wanamaker entered his cabinet as Postmaster- 
General, — a position for which his talents and experience in business organiza- 
tion especially fitted him. His administration of the Post-Office Department 
was marked by a number of reforms, and a great improvement in its methods. 
At the end of his term of office he took a well-earned vacation, making with his 
family an extensive tour through the United States and Mexico. On this 
journey he received many tokens of high esteem and wide popularity^ 

Mr. Wana- 
maker has given 
to the various 
charities and 
benevolent en- 
terprises what is 
of more value 
than money, 
namely, himself 
and his abilities. 
Even when the 
•duties of Post- 
master-General 
of the United 
States were 
added to his al- 
ready enormous 
undertakingfs, he 
came regularly 

every week from Washington to Philadelphia to superintend his Sunday^-school 
at Bethany. But few have been more generous givers of money as well. He 
has given over $100,000 to Bethany Church and Sunday-school ; he has given 
$100,000 to the Young Men's Christian Association. The Children's Wing of 
the Presbyterian Hospital, practically a complete hospital in itself was paid for 
by Mrs. Wanamaker. He has established on Broad street a home for those 
of his female employees who have no regular home in the city ; and in many 
other ways Mr. Wanamaker has given proof of the spirit of practical good work 
which is the moving force of his whole life. 

♦NOTE — There are SOO pages in this volume. The sixty-four fall-page half-tone illustrations should be added 
to the last folio number indicated '.736) giving a total of .SOO pages. 




" LINDENHURST," MR. WANAMAKER'S COU.NTRY RESIDENCE NEAR JENKINTOWN, PA. 



S^ 



